


The Tower of Dark Sorcery

by Bethann, Minniemoggie, Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: AU of Legendary Friendship and Desperate Hours AUs [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, Spanking, illustrated story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A direct follow up to The Tower of the Rising Moon. (http://archiveofourown.org/works/821725/chapters/1557405)  We would strongly suggest reading that one first for this one to make sense.  It will also help if you read the notes at the beginning of this series here to understand our alternate universe ideas.<br/>http://archiveofourown.org/series/26487 </p><p>Tolkien tells us that Aragorn had Minas Ithil (Minas Morgul) annihilated and kept uninhabited for seven years.  This is our version of how that was planned and carried out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Legolas pov

 

It seems to me that all we have been doing since we returned to Emyn Arnen is to argue, first over what happened in Minas Ithil then about the state of my health and that of Faramir and now over how we are to achieve our goal of emptying Minas Ithil of the enemy that have taken up quarters there and have been carrying out the most foul of activities including slave trade and I suspect far worse.

 

We are all agreed upon the fact that something must be done to put an end to Haashim and of course the Fell beast he has tethered within the main court.  Should that ever heal sufficiently to fly again it would cause havoc in the surrounding area. It is simply a matter of how and the logistics of who and when that we are disagreeing over at the present time. I for one am getting tired of hearing Faramir repeat his demand but it does not seem to stop him from reiterating it one more time.

  
Faramir pov

 

"I want that toxic filth cleaned out of my princedom," I say fiercely, "The sooner the better, though it will take at least a week and a half to pull sufficient numbers from the outlying garrisons." 

 

"We don't need THAT many soldiers." Legolas interrupts, rolling his eyes. "The Southron were not that skilled, and a party from Ithilien-en-Edhil would be sufficient to deal with the fell-beast. We elves are not so susceptible to their malevolence." 

 

"A week." Aragorn theorizes, holding up a hand for silence, "I'll take a company of the standard army, that's what they're there for. We can use rangers as scouts, but we shouldn't need that many." He turns to fix first me and then Legolas with a hard look, "And neither of the two of you will be going, so you had best accept that here and now." 

 

Despite my resolution to do as Gimli and Legolas suggested and speak more softly and respectfully to my father, I am about to disagree with him quite firmly. From the expression on Legolas' face, I can tell that I have at least one ally. Then Gimli speaks, and I realize that I have two. 

 

"Now, now, lad." He says soothingly to my father, "I can understand why ye feel that way. I spent a long night worrying over our lads myself, though in truth that was not any fault of theirs. I owe our enemies in that befouled city a taste of my axe for their misdeeds, and I am not the only one. There is no reason why Legolas should not go, or Faramir either." 

 

Legolas straightens and beams gratefully at his guardian. Gimli's eyes twinkle fondly at his elven ward. After a moment, he adds sternly, "Provided that Legolas can hold his temper, and keep from doing anything rash, of course." 

 

Legolas rolls his eyes as if he's never done anything rash in his life, and turns to Aragorn with a 'so-there' expression on his face. 

 

My father looks skeptical, but does not contradict Gimli's authority in respect of Legolas. Instead he turns to me, and more calmly and even compassionately reminds me, "It is not lack of skill or courage on your part, my Faramir. Rather, it is your place as Steward is in Minas Tirith. We cannot both go to war, you and I."  

 

Aragorn is right. Common sense does dictate that we should not both go, and historical precedent would dictate that it is the King's prerogative to lead the army to war and the Steward's duty to remain behind as regent. Even had it not been, I conceded the right to the title of Captain-general to others. I am a better administrator than a warrior, and I know it. But Ithilien is my princedom, and I know this land and its people better than Aragorn does, King though he is. 

 

 

I say so, and I add that the fault for this situation is mine, as well. "I am the one who approved the redistribution of force leaving the area around Minas Morgul more lightly patrolled." 

 

Aragorn waves that objection away. "It seemed a reasonable one at the time. Ithilien is thinly populated in that area, and historically even Sauron's own creatures felt uncomfortable around Minas Morgul." 

 

"All the more reason that I should have expected trouble," I counter grimly. 

 

Legolas throws a pillow at Aragorn, interrupting my self-censure. 

 

"Why didn't you tell me that you were having trouble garrisoning Ithilien, Estel?" Legolas asks my father, his tone a mix of hurt and scolding. "I wouldn't expect Faramir to think to do so, but you should have. Ada sent me with sufficient warriors. We could well afford to second some several dozen from Ithilien-en-Edhil to the southern rangers." 

 

I myself had not thought to ask Legolas or the elves for aid. It would be an ideal situation in many ways if they could provide such support without hardship, since transferring city guard or regular army men to the rangers in any large numbers tends to work poorly. Aragorn had found for me a score of northern rangers who have worked out well, but Arnor is itself under-manned, so we cannot draw too heavily from there. 

 

My father sighs heavily. "Your kin are leaving these shores, Legolas. Your aid and your settlement's in cleansing the forests here is more than I expected. I did not think it right to ask for more, given the circumstances." 

 

"Don't be an idiot, Estel." Legolas criticizes, looking to me instead of Aragorn as he inquires, "Where else are your patrols so thin?" 

 

"Throughout several of the less-inhabited areas in Ithilien, at least those which are not along the Anduin, the Poros, or adjacent to known enemy crossings," I supply promptly. "And in parts of Arnor, as well. In most of Gondor proper we can supplement with regular army garrisons, but we have problems again near the old Gondor/Arnor border along the heavily wooded Lefnui River." 

 

"Thank you, Faramir." Legolas replies, emphasizing my name with a half-hearted glare at my father while he rubs his healing arm. 

 

Gimli, as well, is favoring my father with a less-than-impressed expression. "Did ye tell those twin brothers of yours of the problems in Arnor?" 

 

"Well, no." Aragorn answers defensively, "Their people are trying to sail, too." 

It is quickly decided that we of Gondor can ask our elven allies for additional aid, which eases my mind at least. 

 

"Good then, that's settled." Legolas concludes sounding much aggrieved. "My elves can be ready in less than a week's time. I should be more than ready to travel and fight by then."

 

The fierce gleam in Legolas' eyes suggests that he feels he has a score to settle, as well. Indeed he does, but the subsequent argument between Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli about when Legolas will be healed enough to do what is loud. I allow my attention to drift a bit. I truly do not know much about elven healing, and the last thing Legolas seems to need is more people telling him what to do. 

 

"I hate to leave it for so long," I interrupt as a new thought occurs to me, "But two weeks' time might be better." 

 

"Faramir?" My father prompts when I pause. 

 

"It would give us enough days to have the rangers I've sent to all of the settlements around Minas Ithil report back on the names of the missing," I point out, "And to have our spies began tracing where those captured might have ended up, if they were taken as slaves. Before anyone knows that there has been a change in management. And we might be able to turn one of Haashim's men. He was willing to aid Legolas and I, albeit covertly, against his leader's wishes." 

 

We debate the merits of that for a time. The rangers, with Legolas' elves and the Emyn Arnen garrison for support, are probably sufficient to cordon the area around Minas Ithil so that no further damage is done by our enemies. However, every additional day increases the risk that they will realize that we are coming in force, and either flee, or dig in more deeply. 

 

"Yer ancestors build that city to last," Gimli points out, "Even a wreck such as it is, and with the numbers they already have, they could cause a great deal of damage to an attacking force, with any warning at all." 

 

"You would know more about the soundness of gates and walls than I, Gimli," Legolas concedes, "But based on the architecture of the other Exile cities, we could make some predictions at how it might be infiltrated. If Faramir and I were to put our heads together, we might be able to come up with some ideas. We could send a scout ahead..." 

 

Legolas continues excitedly, until Gimli interrupts him with a cynical snort. "A scout, eh?

A certain pointy-eared blond one? I don't think so, my lad." 

 

"But Gimli," Legolas argues passionately, "I would be the best choice to go ahead and scout. And a week would give us more than enough time to look for safe routes into the city, and to keep an eye out for our stolen weapons and belongings." 

 

"Lad, I've told ye, none of that is worth dying for," Gimli says firmly, although not without sympathy. This is not the first time that Legolas has brought this up since he awoke in the cave. 

 

"Legolas, gwador-nin," Aragorn agrees, though ever so gently, "I know that the knives your father gave you and Gimli's gift are very important to you, but..." 

 

"Don't forget Gimli's brooch and dagger!" Legolas snaps, "The latter was a gift from his own father Gloin, and he wouldn't have had to sacrifice either, or Faramir risk his own skin, if I hadn't been stupid enough to get caught by a hell-beast!”

 

We all hasten to reassure Legolas that nothing that occurred was his fault, and that he had in fact shown great courage and skill. Arvedui the goatherd's son would certainly have been lost without him. I wish that there was something that I could say to comfort him, but I cannot encourage - or even understand - his urge to risk so much to retrieve weapons and jewels, no matter how precious. Something does occur though. 

 

"Legolas," I offer softly, "I will see what can be done to retrieve all that was taken. We have a ranger spy who is known to be a collector of fine jewelry and weapons. If it can be done safely, I will see them purchased from Haashim." 

 

I can see Legolas' eyes alight, his disgust with the idea of Haashim's gain warring with interest. "That spy? Is he one of the many you told me about, who might...." 

 

I shake my head faintly, a plea for Legolas to leave this line of thought unspoken. He accedes, albeit with a bit of confusion. I am grateful, and I will try to explain more later. For now, I pay attention to Gimli and Aragorn's concerns with my plan. 

 

"I am grateful indeed that Haashim's man gave you and Legolas aid and succor, ion-nin."

Aragorn tells me, "However, I do not know that his willingness to betray Haashim is

worth risking contact." 

 

"Aye." Gimli agrees, "Giving ye soup against his master's orders is a far different thing than turning traitor." 

 

"It is," I agree, "But I do not think he is sworn to Haashim, or to the same Bey - the same Lord."

 

 In fact, I am sure that he is not. I know all of Haashim's men from my past transactions with him and his ilk, and this man has not been with Haashim long. Most likely our soup-giving friend's lord died during the war, and he had little choice but to band together with someone. Haashim lost less than many, as he declined to fight when his father called him to battle. 

 

"It's a risk, Faramir," My father says quietly. "What think you, Legolas?" 

 

The elven prince shakes his head regretfully.

 

 "I do not remember the man. I remember his disgusting soup." 

 

"It was unpalatable," I agree. 

 

Legolas flashes me a quick grin, as if he knew or guessed that I was thinking of my wife's culinary attempts.

 

 "I did feel better sometime after eating it." Legolas adds, "But I cannot tell if that was due to some property of the stew, or just to Faramir's ministrations and time." 

 

"It could be either, from what you both have reported," Aragorn remarks. "We shall have to think on it further. An ally on the inside would be helpful enough that it might be worth the risk." 

                       

That seems to meet with general agreement. I hate to break the calm, but I cannot help but continue to argue the point of my remaining in Minas Tirith instead of joining the party that goes to clean out Minas Ithil. 

 

"I would be best suited to be part of that decision, and others, which must be made in the course of this excursion," I tell my father calmly. "I know the land, I know the people, and I know the spies who will be interacting with Haashim. I cannot make decisions from Minas Tirith." 

 

"You may stay in Emyn Arnen if it suits you better," Aragorn tells me lightly, but with no willingness to truly listen, "But you will not be going to Minas Ithil again, Faramir." 

 

"Your other arguments aside," I say tightly, "I at least have a proper heir to leave behind me should I die. I am not irreplaceable in Minas Tirith either, however much we might like to think I am. My uncle could be your regent in Gondor at least as well as I." 

 

Aragorn look as if he wants to smack me. Or shake me. Some of the things I just said were worded to incite his temper, and a-purpose. I am not looking at Gimli, but I can almost feel him giving me a disappointed look. Aye, him and Legolas, too. 

Wonder of wonders, my father keeps his temper.

 

 "I am not having this conversation with you today, Faramir," He says firmly. "You may leave us to rest, or you may sit quietly until you have something rational to contribute."

 

Rude as it is, he could have said something worse. Still, Aragorn is speaking to me in his 'don't push me' tone of voice. I've learned to recognize it, and what follows it if I don't take the warning. 

 

"I beg your pardon for my temper, my King...Adar," I correct myself at the last minute. He sighs, and gestures that I might stay. Legolas pats the bed covers beside him, so I sit there. After a few minutes of listening to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas discussing different strategic concerns, I enter the conversation again. The topic of who will be going and who will be staying does not come up again. 

 

Not long after, we break for lunch. Legolas is encouraged to nap, and to my annoyance, so am I. When I awake, it is to learn that Aragorn and Gimli have taken advantage of the quiet to go and do some hunting. I smile in amusement at that for a moment, since my father will seize upon any excuse to play the ranger and forget that he is the King, even for a few hours. I am a bit surprised that Gimli allowed himself to be lured away from Legolas' side, even for but a short time. However, Legolas is doing much better and probably encouraged his guardian to go out and get some air.  I smile with sudden wry speculation as to what Legolas might do with his unsupervised time, and go to seek him out. 

 

He looks up, startled, when I enter his room. He is halfway between his bed and the bureau, clearly walking with only a slight limp. 

 

"I apologize for my lapse in manners in failing to knock," I say lightly, "However, I rather suspected that you might be engaged in some...ah...gentle stretching, and I didn't want to surprise you into falling over." 

 

Legolas rolls his eyes in disgust. "Gah." He complains, making his way to the bureau and fishing out a pair of leggings. "I'll go back to bed if you'll say nothing, but at least let me get decently dressed first."

 

I watch as Legolas proceeds to suit actions to words. He seems steady enough on his feet, with none of the telltale signs of being in pain.

 

"If you let me help you walk all the way there and back, I will risk the wrath of both Gimli and Aragorn to get you outside for a little while." 

 

Legolas perks up immediately. He gratefully accepts, and we slowly make our way out a side entrance and towards a hot spring set just beyond a new garden, just under the shade of the old growth forest we spared when clearing land for the house. 

I sigh with contentment as the hot water and the green cool of the forest soothe my body and spirit. Legolas, whom I settle on a rocky shelf beside me, seems to feel much the same way. 

 

"I have a favor to ask you," I tell Legolas solemnly. 

 

He nods back, just as solemnly. "I will try to help you convince Estel that it would be best for you both to go to Minas Ithil. It is not right, to leave you behind. Neither of you will die on this expedition; we are more than equal to the enemy. And even in the ridiculous impossibility that you both did die, Imrahil and Arwen could serve as Elboron's regents until his majority." 

 

I blanch at the very thought, but thank Legolas nonetheless.

 

 "I actually had something else to ask." I tell him. 

 

He anticipates me again, this time looking disappointed but sympathetic. "You should not have spoken to your father like you did. You ARE a proper heir. And you are irreplaceable, to him. To suggest otherwise was unkind." 

 

"Ah...yes," I must concede, "I should perhaps apologize to him, for that. But what I.... why are you laughing?" 

 

Legolas is snickering quite cheerfully. Once he has control of himself,  he explains, "If you apologize to Aragorn for this, he's going to be checking you for fever or head injury again. Not once, not twice, but three times he has come to Gimli and I and asked if you had hit your head during our recent adventures, because you have been acting so strangely affectionate and reasonable." 

 

I have to laugh a bit at that, myself. I can tell that Aragorn has appreciated the change in my behavior, but I did not realize he had noticed it to such an extent that he would worry about my having suffered a head wound to account for it. 

 

"After the third time he asked," Legolas continues his blue eyes dancing with mirth, "I told him that I thought you had hit your head at some point, but nowhere near hard enough to want to put up with him in priggish healer mode." 

 

I choke and then laugh. 

 

"Gimli didn't like that," Legolas explains, rubbing ruefully at a spot on his upper thigh, "But at least Aragorn stopped asking, after that." 

 

"Thank you for putting my father's mind at ease, gwador-nin," I say gratefully, "And for helping me to see more clearly how to be a good son to him." 

 

"You are already a good son," Legolas scolds me lightly, "But that was apparently not the favor you wanted to ask for, either. What is it, then?" 

 

Now that the moment is here, I am having trouble figuring out what to say.

 

 "Well," I begin, "First I would like to thank you for your discretion, during our earlier discussion, in not mentioning how very many details I gave to you concerning whom to contact in Harad if you were there and needed aid." 

 

"You're welcome, of course," Legolas says with a curious nod, "But why didn't you want Aragorn - or Gimli - to know of that? They know that you were formerly the commander of the spy network, and its captains still report to you and to Aragorn. Why shouldn't you know those details?" 

 

I wince. "Aragorn knows that I commanded the rangers who founded the spy network, and that I advised them. He does NOT know that I was one of those rangers, and that I still am, on occasion, one of those spies." 

 

Legolas is quiet for a moment. I hurry to add, "It is a very stupid, dangerous thing that I am doing, Legolas, and I know that it is. I am only very occasionally playing the role of one of the merchants I used to be, whilst we were developing the contacts to infiltrate the Haradrim army and private military supply chains. Most of other ranger-spies who were known to some of our most important contacts died during the war. If I can't be there to ease transitions and ask for certain favors, it puts my men in more danger. I must ask you to please not tell my father of this, at least not until I have finished with this transitioning. But I can understand if you feel that you cannot keep this secret. And I would not hold it against you, I promise.”

 

Legolas POV

 

The hot spring is very pleasant. It reminds me of the ones in Imladris and I know from experience that the salts and the heat will help any residual ache in my arm and leg. I am beginning to be a little concerned over the slow healing.  Not that I have said anything to anyone. I am already plagued by healers and friends especially Aragorn and Gimli, who seem to want hover over me from dawn to dusk. Perhaps the hot springs will work their magic and I will be back to full health after today.  For now I turn my attention to the conversation I am having with Faramir.

 

 I suspect Aragorn would be even less happy about that than the fact that I am concealing my own worries over my recovery from him, but since he is presently absent he will not know of it at least not from my lips.

 

Somehow, it does not surprise me that Faramir is still taking on a much more active role in the spy network than others would consider good for him. He knows the area so well, is fluent in the different dialects and languages and understands the culture. I look across to where he is lazing in the pool opposite to me and take the time to observe his features more closely.  There is some resemblance to Boromir, the eyes and the nose being two. But many of Númenórean descent share those same characteristics so that is not a surprise, but the more I know him the more I see how like his father he is, right down to the stubborn determination to take responsibility for everything and to try and do everything rather than delegate or put others in danger.

 

I wonder how Estel would feel were I to inform Faramir of his own father’s somewhat dubious activities in Harad and Khand whither he went at the behest of Mithrandir.

The Grey Pilgrim also recruited me into his network of spies although my activities were confined to the area around Dol Guldur. Even now the memories of what I saw and heard there are vivid and of nightmarish proportions. I expect Faramir has similar recollections and suffers from night terrors because of them. Any sane man or elf would do so, although we would not let it prevent us from doing what we considered to be needful.

We may have come from different races but Faramir and I have similar beliefs and an inbuilt need to defend our people and our homes in whatever way necessary. In fact we are very alike.  We neither of us thinks twice about placing ourselves in danger if we are certain that our course of action would benefit our own folk.

 

There are those who suggest that we have a death wish. It is not true, but we are prepared to sacrifice our own safety for the good of others as any proper lord of their people would choose to do.

I see Faramir is looking a little concerned by my continuing silence so I smile reassuringly and tell him that his secrets are safe with me.

 

 “I understand the need and the difficulty of pulling back safely and,”

 

 I add, even while I know that to say it will earn my the severest displeasure of my father, Gimli and Aragorn if they ever come to hear of it, “I am at your disposal if there is ever a need for an elf to accompany you on your missions. You need not fear I will be a distraction or a danger to you. I have done similar work before for Mithrandir and know the importance of keeping the number who know about what is going on to a minimum.”

 

I can see my words have relieved his mind of any concern over confidentiality and he relaxes back into the warm water with a sigh of relief and a simple. “Thank you.”

 

We lie in silence for a while and I allow my thoughts to run back over the days since our incarceration inside Minas Ithil. I review my own actions during the rescue attempt and come to the conclusion that it was an error of judgment that led me to fall through the rotten roofing. It is embarrassing to admit that even if I only do so to myself. As an elven warrior I should have been more aware of my surroundings and not allowed my attention to waver as I did when confronted by the Fell beast. Were I back home in Eryn Lasgalen those who lead the training regimen would have me doing basic re-training, for my error was inexcusable in one who is supposed to be a captain of the woodland brigades.

I owe Faramir a great debt, as well as my dear Gimli for they had to risk their lives to free me. It should not have been necessary. And then of course my injuries meant I was incapable of even helping myself to walk to freedom when it came. Ai, it is so embarrassing!

 

“Perhaps it is time we returned to the house,” Faramir speaks from next to me.  He has obviously moved across the pool without my noticing and  is looking concerned again, as he scans my features, “are you in pain?  You have gone very red.”

 

I blush even more fiercely at this, but demur also, “elves heal very swiftly, I assure you.”

 

Which doesn’t answer his question, but since I do not want to do that I hurry to add, “I was merely re-living the mortification of having made such a mess of things that I had to be carried out in your arms from Minas Ithil and then transported on a litter, to Emyn Annun. What an exhibition I have made of myself. I have scarcely enhanced the reputation of the elves of the Great Wood either.  What sort of leader am I going to be if I cannot even keep myself out of trouble?”

 

“You were hurt while rescuing an innocent child and fending off a Fell beast. Where is the shame in that?”

 

“I should have been more careful,” I mutter, “my actions put you and Gimli at risk, something that should not have occurred.”

 

“Nonsense,” Faramir’s tone is quite sharp and I can see that he feels that I should not be thinking thusly, but I cannot help it. But for his sake I say nothing more but allow him to encourage me out of the pool and into my clothing.

 

We walk back to the house in companionable silence, to find Estel and Gimli have returned. They are inclined to scold even when Faramir mentions the hot springs.

 

“You should have told us what you planned,” Estel grumbles as he begins to poke and prod at my arm. “I know the beneficial nature of hot springs very well, but it would have been better had you waited until I gave you permission to take advantage of them.”

 

I pull away from him, tired of his attentions and his unnecessary nagging. My leg and arm are aching now after such a long period of inactivity and while the waters eased the worst of it, I am aware that there is still residual weakness in both my damaged limbs, weakness that should not be there now.

 

“I did not need your permission Estel,” I tell him, “I am not a child. I am capable of making choices for myself. I have been doing so for more yeni than you have been alive after all. What is more we could hardly tell you what we were doing since you were absent.  Stop fussing, Estel!” I finish with a snarl unable to quite hide the wince as he pushes at my thigh again. I free myself and tell him that I am going back to my chamber to change into clothes suitable for dinner.

 

 “Perhaps you should do the same,” I say.

 

“Who said you were coming to the hall for dinner?” He calls after me but I ignore him slamming the door into the house behind me as I stalk off and then just to add to the effect slamming the one into my bed chamber as well before sinking down onto the bed. The door opens again almost immediately and my dwarf enters.

 

I expect him to take me to task for my rudeness but he only comes to sit beside me and places a hand on my leg.

 

“Are ye alright Lamb?”

 

“I am fine.”

 

“It doesn’t take someone with the eyes of a hawk to see ye are not,” He tells me with a small smile knowing I  recognize his boast in Lothlorien but I cannot find it in me to smile back.  In fact it takes all my will power to stop myself from falling into Gimli’s shoulder and bursting into tears. I do not know what is wrong with me. I only know I do not like it at all.

 

Gimli takes my chin in his large hand and looks at me closely.

 

 “I think ye are pushing yourself too hard. I know all about elven healing but ye are forgetting that your injuries were severe and not properly cared for immediately, mores a pity.  I was so shocked when I first caught sight of ye. My heart fair turned over. I was so grateful that Faramir was there to care for ye.”

 

 I see that his dark eyes are filled with unshed tears and I feel terrible for having caused him such worry.

 

“I should have been more careful. I am sorry Gimli.”

 

“Here now Lamb, no blame can be laid at your door,” he shakes my chin gently, “and don’t let me find ye brooding over it either, youngling, else you and I will have a falling out!  Now mind me.”

 

“Yes Gimli,” I answer meekly

 

I know that if I am not careful I will burst into tears so I say, “I think maybe I am a little tired. Perhaps it would be better if I rested rather than going down to dinner.”

 

I see my offer has pleased him and I let him bustle about turning down covers and pulling the curtains across the windows.  Then he waits while I pull off my boots and tunic and then settle into the bed letting him tuck up the counterpane and brush the hair off my face. He kisses my brow and wishes me pleasant dreams.

 

“I will come and check on ye after the meal,” he promises and I smile and ask him to convey my apologies to Estel and Faramir.

 

“Aye I will do that lad. Now get some rest. Tomorrow ye can show me where that hot spring is. I have a fancy to try it for myself.”

 

He departs on these words and I am left alone. As soon as I am certain that the household will all be at dinner I rise again and slip outside again. I do not have my twin knives now, and that causes another pang of regret for the knives came to me from my Adar and he had them from my grandsire Oropher. They are part of my birthright and to lose them as I have is another thing that shames me. My father will never say so of course but he is sure to be disappointed in me, for he has little left to him of his own Adar other than his sword and pike now.

 

The knives were handed to me when I was officially taken into the warrior brigades.  How proud I was, for I knew the history of Celair-lach (brilliant leaping flame) and Laeg-gwaneth  (sharp death) as well as I knew my own. Daeradar had used them in the Battle of Fornost and carried them at Dagorlad and now I have lost them in Minas Ithil. Faramir does not understand how important they are to me and why I must get them back. Gimli I believe does, for I know how he treasured the dagger given to him by Lord Gloin but rather than further upset me by saying so he pretends it does not matter to him. Of course I understand that life is more important than knives or daggers, but still.

 

However, I have to face facts that now I have to manage without my knives so I take the sword that was given to me by Faramir when we arrived, for a warrior even such as me  is useless without a weapon of some kind. I have of course trained with a sword but have always preferred the lighter knives and am much more comfortable with them. Still for now a sword is what I have, so I begin one of the drills that I learned many yeni ago as a novice. As I become more attuned to its weight I should be able to move more easily through the movements.  It is only a matter of practice. I whirl the borrowed sword above my head, testing my arm’s strength while at the same time moving through the steps that go with this sword drill so that I can see how well my leg has healed at the same time.

To my dismay I find within a few moments I am panting for breath, sweat is running down my face, my arm is shaking with the effort of holding the blade above my head. I make a misstep, stumble and the sword slips from my grasp cutting a thin slice out of my leg as it falls to the ground.

 

There is nothing for it but to go indoors to find something to bind the wound. The injury is not serious and it is merely a matter of stopping the bleeding so that I can go back outside to take up practice again. If I am to be fully fit for when we make the assault on Minas Ithil I must push myself hard for I will not countenance being left behind. There are things I have to do within the darkened walls of the tower of the moon.  My reputation as a warrior is at stake and I wish to see the slave traders brought to justice and whether my friends approve or not, I will retrieve my twin knives, Gimli’s dagger and the oak leaf pendant that Gimli gave me and which I wear to honor my dwarven guardian and which marks me as a member of his kin if at all possible.

Yet even as I step back into the garden to continue my drills I find myself physically weak and increasingly nauseous. I grit my teeth and pick up my sword and begin again.

 

“Legolas what do you think you are doing?”

 

Estel at least has the wit to wait until I have finished the latest round of movements but his voice still makes me swing round my sword coming up into a defensive position.

I almost do not bother to answer him for if he cannot see what I am doing then there is something very much amiss!  But since behind him stands Gimli, I decide that perhaps to answer would be at least politic. So lowering my borrowed sword and leaning on it for support I say,“I am familiarizing myself with this borrowed weapon of course. Surely you would expect no less of me or any other warrior about to go into battle.”

 

“I understood you were resting.”

 

“Aye, so did I,” Gimli growls as he comes up to me, but just as I think he is going to take hold of me he looks down at the hastily tied bandage and his indrawn breath draws Estel’s attention as well.  And just when I need to stand firm, my traitorous legs give way and I end up sitting down very heavily on the grass.


	2. Chapter 2

If I were to say I am tired of finding myself flat on my back in a bed and aching all over, I would probably be understating the case.

 

“I believe he is awakening.” 

 

That is Faramir’s voice and I instinctively turn towards it blinking and attempting to concentrate on his face but it seems strangely out of focus as he looks away to speak to someone else in the chamber. I ease my head to one side and see that the sun is shining so it must be morning, but a sixth sense makes me wonder which morning?

 

How long have I been unconscious?

 

“Lamb?”

 

 That is my dwarf. I can hear a mingling of both relief and anxiety in his voice. I do my best to answer, but my voice appears to be rusty with misuse and all that comes out is a croak. I am lifted in one strong arm and a goblet of cool water is placed to my lips.

 

“Easy now, just small sips, else it will upset your stomach again.”

 

Before I can question this statement, Gimli is replaced by Estel who puts a hand on my brow as if seeking for fever.

 

“Well?” Gimli demands, “How is he?”

 

“I believe he may finally be free of the fever.”

 

“Mahal be praised! May I never know such days again.  How could we not have seen this coming?”

 

“Because,” Estel answers frowning down at me, “this young fool chose to keep his increasing distress from those who have his best interests at heart friend Gimli. This did not just come upon Legolas all at once, did it Thranduilion?”

 

Now three disapproving faces are turned toward me and it takes all my resolve to keep from quite literally squirming.  Instead of answering directly I ask a question of my own, “What time is it?”

 

“You would do better to ask what day is it?” Estel tells me, “You collapsed more than two days ago and have been gravely ill. We believe the poison from the fell beast was more pernicious than even we knew and when you willfully ignored my orders to rest you seem to have brought upon yourself a very serious relapse.”

 

“My arm and leg were fully repaired,” I defend myself.

 

“But your system was not, the poison was still in your blood.”

 

I am about to argue further when Gimli steps in.

 

 “It doesn’a matter now. My lad is better; that is all that that counts and we should give thanks for that, aye, and begin to plan now for our move against that rabble in Minas Ithil.”

 

“I agree with Gimli,” Faramir puts in, “we must see that the beast is killed. I have heard tales in the last two days since Legolas was struck down of some of my folk being sprayed with its spittle and then losing the use of their limbs or if it enters their eyes losing their sight.”

 

I close my eyes at Faramir’s words. Have I really come so close to such a thing happening to me? A familiar calloused hand takes mine and squeezes it reassuringly.

 

“Aye tis as well this elven princeling has a hard head and a will to survive. And while I do not approve of his putting his recovery in jeopardy as he did, ye cannot blame the laddie for wanting to get well.  We would all have likely done the same and maybe paid a heavier price than even my lamb has. No lad,” he warns Estel, “enough!  Let us be thankful he has survived and work on how we are to get ourselves in and out of that accursed place so that the evil that lurks there can be broken for good.”

 

Estel does not seem very happy with this exhortation but he finally agrees that the matter of my foolishness can be set aside for ‘now’ and more important matters broached.

 

“But not until tonight,” he declares, “You” he points at me “Will spend the rest of the day resting and only if I declare you ready will you join us in our deliberations. I will hear no argument Legolas. If you wish to take part in our action you will do as you are told from now on.”

 

I open my mouth and close it again as Gimli squeezes my hand again this time in warning,

 

 “Fair enough lad. I will stay with my lamb for a while and see that he follows orders this time around.  Faramir will ye come back later and sit with us? I am sure Legolas would welcome your company this afternoon.”

 

Aragorn scowls at this for it is plain even to me that Gimli would sooner have his absence than his presence. I am too grateful for the reprieve to wonder what has caused the apparent rift between them and indeed I might just be imagining that there even is one. Whatever the reason Aragorn departs taking Faramir with him and leaving me alone with my hirsute guardian.

 

I look up at him rather sheepishly, expecting now that we are alone that he will read me a lecture on my foolishness or worse, but he merely pats my hand and repeats that he is happy to see me well on the way to a full recovery.

I rest for a short time, and then with Gimli’s help drink some broth, which he assures me with a wink has not been made by the Lady Eowyn. I ask about what has been happening and he tells me that messages have been dispatched to my colony asking for aid in my name.

 

 “I thought ye would want me to do so,” he tells me and I nod in agreement thanking Gimli for his foresight. I am less enamored of the next piece of news that Gimli has also sent messages informing my folk of my injuries and status.

 

But I see that Gimli would have little choice but to tell them in case I succumbed to the poison of the fell beast … well that no longer need concern me. I just have to hope that my seneschal has not yet written to my Adar for to make him anxious when there is no longer need seems pointless not to mention it might have uncomfortable repercussions for me the next time I meet him. Ada has never fully appreciated my choices when it comes to dangerous situations. Almost as if he can read my thoughts, Gimli chuckles.

 

“I will just go and see some messenger birds sent off to give the news of your recovery, lad. I am sure there are many who will be happy to hear it, your da included.”

 

When Gimli has gone, I close my eyes briefly and give thanks to whatever power has seen me through this latest misadventure.

 

I am now all the more determined to see an end to the evil that lurks in the shadows of Minas Ithil although I am not yet convinced that Estel will want me to be there.

 

“Now what is going on in that feather head of yours?” Gimli wants to know when he returns, “ye look as if the weight of Middle Earth is on your shoulders. Ye are getting better laddie, and will soon be fully fit and flighty as ye ever were.”

 

“But will it be soon enough for me to accompany you on the sortie to the city of the moon?”

 

“You may be sure of it,” Gimli says, “I will not countenance a march on Minas Ithil until ye are ready to join us. I know it is important to ye to see this through to the end, and so ye shall. I give ye my word..”

 

And that is good enough for me.

 

 

Xxxx

 

For the space of one heartbeat Aragorn and I stare at one another in shocked horror, then we lunge forward to where my elfling lies writhing on the ground. His head moves rhythmically from side to side and his eyes roll back in his head while his arms and legs flail about uncontrollably.

 

  As I fall to my knees beside him, Aragorn quickly cradles Legolas’ head in his hands and shouts, “Move that Valar be damned sword away from him before he cuts his arm off!”

 

The sword he has evidently been practicing with has fallen across his chest and the sharp edge has already sliced through the thick fabric of his tunic and nicked his arm underneath so that droplets of red begin to stain his sleeve.  I grab the sword and heave it away, and then help Aragorn roll Legolas on to his side just in time to prevent him choking on his own vomit.  The convulsions last only another few seconds and then he falls suddenly still, making my heart nearly stop.  But Aragorn clears the lad’s mouth with two fingers and rolls him onto his back again and to my relief I can see he is still breathing.

 

“Loosen his belt,” Aragorn instructs, as he begins working on the collar of his tunic and shirt.  I hurry to untie the belt around his waist and then begin to loosen the ties of his leggings as well.  As I do so, I notice a dark stain has spread across the front of them indicating that the convulsions have caused him to lose bladder control.  My heart turns over in sympathy and I can only hope that he won’t remember any of this once he is over whatever this is.  Her certainly won’t hear of it from me, and I dare not consider the possibility that he won’t recover.  Soon, though, Aragorn’s gasp makes me forget all else as I look up to see what he is concerned over.   And then my heart is in my mouth again, for the claw marks that covering my elf’s neck and chest are swollen, red and angry looking and seeping black pus. 

 

“But he was improving!” I object. “He had already recovered from the worst of the venom.”

 

“Why didn’t I think of this?” Aragorn condemns himself and then quickly explains as he simultaneously opens one of Legolas’ eyes and peers into it.  “No Gimli, we only thought he had improved. What must have happened is that his superior healing abilities only slowed the process and his moving about today sped things up by circulating the venom faster through his system.   We have to cool him down quickly to slow his circulation back down.  Bring him back to his chambers-hurry!”

 

Aragorn runs ahead as I scoop my elfling up and rush after him, but his longer legs and my precious burden, means he has the tub to the bathing chamber partway filled by the time I arrive.  At Aragorn’s direction, I lower my elf, clothes, boots and all into the ice cold water.  As soon as he makes contact, Legolas cries out and begins to struggle, but the two of us hold him firmly under the water, trying out best to keep his head from going under. 

 

“Fighting will make it worse!  Calm him down,” Aragorn tells me.  “I’ll hold him, you talk to him.”

 

Taking only time enough to kick off his own boots, Aragorn climbs into the tub, gasps at the frigid water, and then sits astride Legolas thighs to keep him trapped, placing both hands on his chest just below the fell beast’s claw mark.  I take both of my elf’s hands in one of mine and place the other one under his neck, talking as calmly as I can under the poor circumstances.

 

“Legolas!  Be still,”  I scold very firmly, and to my surprise he does stop struggling for a moment and stares at me with large frightened eyes.  I have to blink fast and swallow hard before I can speak again, but when I do, I keep my voice soft and low.  “I know it is cold, Lamb, but we are only trying to help you and it will be over very soon.”

 

I hope with all my heart that that is the case, for I have no way of knowing how long this treatment needs to last.  I am not sure how much more of this even I can take, let alone my poor lad, who is beginning to shiver.  But I continue to talk soothingly and wait for word from Aragorn that we can discontinue this torture.  That word doesn’t come until Legolas is choking out sobs between chattering teeth and both his and Aragorn’s lips have started to turn blue from the cold. 

 

“All right, that should do it. Let’s put him on the floor.”

 

Together we lift our soaked friend from the cold water and place him on the cold floor. Aragorn sits astride him again and orders me to hold the lad still, giving me just enough time to do so before he produces a small knife from his belt and quickly lances the festering wound on Legolas’ chest causing him to cry out and try again to fight us albeit somewhat feebly.  Black pus pours from the wound as Aragorn widens it and then pours more cold water from his cupped hands to rinse away the secretion until it runs red, rather than black for several seconds.  Finally Aragorn staggers to his feet, breathing heavily as he brushes his wet hair out of his face.

 

“I’ve gotten all the toxin I could from the surface. The rest of it is already flowing through his system and will have to be removed from within.”

 

I am about to ask what he means by that, when he gestures toward my lad, who is beginning to look a bit green.  I have just enough time to lift Legolas up and grab a large towel, before he begins to vomit heavily.  All I can do is push his hair back over his shoulder and support him upright as he seems to lose every drop of fluid that he has taken in for this entire week and then continues to heave even after that.  Aragorn kneels next to us and joins me  in offering soft comforting words until Legolas finally falls weakly back against me.  Aragorn is quick to bring a cup of water and hold it to the lad’s lips, telling him to rinse and spit, but Legolas only seems confused by this direction and ends up coughing and choking instead and then letting the water flow down his chin.  I catch it with the only clean corner left on the towel in my hand and then look helplessly up at Aragorn.  To my shame, I have no idea what to do next, though I instinctively wrap both arms around my elfling’s shivering frame in an attempt to warm him up a little, not caring that my own shirt ends up getting soaked in the process. 

 

“There can’t be anything left in him,” I observe, “and I don’t think I can continue tormenting him so.  Is there any reason why I can’t help him into dry clothing?”

 

“Nay there is no reason now that we can’t warm him up,” Aragorn agrees.    “We’ve done all we can as far as draining the venom and it will do no good to slow his circulation anymore now.  Why don’t you dress him and get him into bed and I’ll go change and fetch some proper healing supplies?”

 

After Aragorn leaves, I retrieve towels and then remove my lad’s boots before helping him to his feet, holding on tightly to support him.  He is very unsteady, so I try to hurry to strip off his drenched clothing, though I am slowed down by the fact that he seems too confused to help me.  I have to pull his arms out of the sleeves and then manually lift his feet one at a time to get him to step out of his leggings.  I let everything plop to the soaking wet floor, thinking that the mess can be dealt with later.  Right now the important thing is taking care of my lad.  I will not allow myself to think of anything else at the moment, not even to wonder about how serious his condition is and if he will recover from it.  Instead I focus on wrapping him in towels and trying to guide him back into the bedchamber.  In the end, I just carry him again for it is faster and he is still shivering.  I quickly pull a loose fitting nightshirt over his head, placing a clean small towel between it and his still open wound, and help him under the covers. I then pile on as many extra blankets as I can find. 

 

It is then that I go to change my own soaked shirt, never taking my eyes off him the whole time.  By the time I am sitting next to him and stroking the damp hair away from his face, his shivering is beginning to abate, but I notice for the first time that his eyes are bright with fever and his cheeks flushed with it.

 

My worry must show in my face, for he smiles slightly and pulls an arm out from under the covers to reach for my hand. 

 

“Don’t worry, Faramir, Gimli will rescue us.”

 

Mahal help us!

 

He seems very certain of this, which is touching, but also very worrying at the same time.  My poor lad!  But I force myself to answer calmly.

 

“Dinna worry, lamb, ye are safe and so is Faramir.  How do ye feel now?  And tell the truth, elfling.”

 

He cringes and places an arm over his abdomen.

 

“I have a headache,” he admits, “and my stomach is a little… odd.”

 

“Well Aragorn has gone to get some things that should help.  Just close your eyes for now and he’ll be here very soon.”

 

He nods and closes his eyes for a brief moment, but then he gasps and curls up into a ball and moans softly.  He opens his eyes again, giving me a desperate glance that makes me grab a nearby washbasin and hold it under his chin, while supporting him upright once again.  Only this time he just retches repeatedly without bringing anything up making me cringe in sympathy for how painful it sounds.  He must feel as if he is turning inside out.  His eyes are beginning to bruise from the violent heaving and tears stream down his face. 

 

 

I push down my own panic and move to sit behind him on the bed, with my back against the headboard.  I  pull him back against me, forcing his muscles to unclench, and then place a hand against his middle.  I hope the warmth of my hand there will help him relax. 

 

“Ye must stop that immediately, lamb,” I tell him rather sternly, “Ye are wearing yourself out.”

I know it it ridiculous to say this, since he obviously has no real control over the situation, but since he seems to be focusing on my voice I continue.  “Put your head back against me and breathe through your nose.   No, elfling that’s enough! Ye must be still!”

 

Unbelievably my words actually seem to work, for the spasms decrease in intensity and he relaxes back against me. 

 

“There’s a good lad,” I praise.  “just close your eyes and relax.  Focus on breathing…slowly now.”

 

His breathing is ragged and uneasy, but at least he is no longer heaving, and eventually he is able to talk to me.  It is obvious, though, that his thinking is still foggy.

 

“I should have been more careful,” he laments “Gimli will be angry with me…Is the boy safe? 

 

Evidently he is  hallucinating about his imprisonment in Minas Ithil,  no doubt the fault of the fell beast venom reminding him of his night there.  It is heartbreaking to think of him having to experience that again, even if it is  just in his mind.  I hurry to attempt to reassure him.

 

“The boy is safe,” I tell him. “all thanks to you and  your quick thinking.  Ye saved his life by sacrificing your own health and safety.  No one will be angry with  ye for that, child, and no one thinks ye were careless.  Ye did a splendid job and made everyone proud.  Ye mustn’t worry over it.”

 

He half smiles and tries to nod, but continues to ramble fretfully about various topics, while I do my best to soothe him. 

 

This is how Aragorn finds us when he arrives back, this time armed with an assortment of healing supplies.  After bandaging Legolas’ wounds, he immediately begins mixing powders and herbs with water and  putting them on the fire to heat. 

 

“He has been violently ill,” I remind him, eyeing the healing potions.  “He’ll never be able to keep any of that down.”

 

“We’ll have to find a way,” Aragorn says.  “there is no hope otherwise. The venom that is already inside him has to be diluted and that means lots of fluids.  I’ve mixed in anise seed and milk thistle to counteract it as well.”

 

“But I don’t see how…”

 

“We’ll give it to him a teaspoonful at a time,” he tells me.  “Every two minutes for the rest of the night.  But first something to help him sleep between times.”

 

I look skeptically at the pain relieving powder, but Aragorn assures me that it works by being absorbed into soft tissue rather than having to be swallowed.  Taking a finger full of the black powder he places it inside Legolas’ cheek managing to get bitten in the process.  Aragorn yelps and leaps back, while Legolas sputters and tries to spit the vile tasting medicine out.

 

“Ye might have warned him, lad,” I reproach him, and Aragorn does look contrite as he stands nursing his injured finger.

 

“I am sorry, Legolas, I know it is bitter. Here this should help a little.”

 

He mixes a generous amount of sugar into the concoction and feeds it to the lad with a teaspoon, promising more if he keeps it down.  Watching the clock, he repeats the process two minutes later and again two minutes after that.  By the fourth teaspoonful,  the pain relieving powders have started to work, and Legolas falls into a fitful sleep.  I am relived to finally see him resting, but it makes administering the liquid mixture much more difficult, for we have to wake him up enough to swallow every two minutes. 

 

After an hour of doing so, he has finished the medicine, but we switch to plain water, for the venom needs to be flushed from his body with as much fluid as we can get down him.  Another hour later –and every couple of hours after that- we have the additional complication of convincing Legolas to allow one of us to help him relieve himself. It is not an easy task, for he is stubborn and proud besides being completely exhausted. In fact we are all wrung out and drained.  Still we continue this throughout the night and well into the next morning until it begins to become apparent that continuing to do so is beginning to have diminishing returns.  Legolas is so weak and despondent that he can barely even swallow any more.

 

“What he needs is a long healing sleep at this point,” Aragorn informs me. I am inordinately relieved to be able to discontinue this latest form of torturing my lad, but the relief is short lived, for Aragorn continues to speak.

 

“The crisis will come later tonight,” he warns me, “He will either begin to get better or begin to…”

 

He doesn’t continue the sentence in case Legolas can hear us, but he does not need to. I can see what he means by the terrified expression on his face, which I’m sure, must mirror mine perfectly. There is nothing left to do by pray and hope for the best.

 

  We spend the rest of the night in silence, watching our friend struggle to breathe and listening carefully for any clues as to what outcome we might expect. I daren’t look beyond each ragged breath for fear of losing my composure.

 

It is deep into the night when I finally notice a nearly imperceptible change in his breathing pattern-so minute that I wonder if I am imagining it. It seems to me he is breathing a little easier.   Evidently Aragorn hears it as well, for he moves to place a hand on Legolas forehead.

 

“He is improving!” He exclaims, smiling for the first time in two days.

 

“Are ye certain?”  I hurry to place a hand on the lad’s flushed cheek to check for myself.  Sure enough he is a tad cooler than before. 

 

“Aye, I am certain.  He will recover!”

 

We are both so overjoyed that we fall together in a hard embrace and thump each other on the back in congratulations.

 

Before long Legolas’ breathing has improves so much that it is apparent that he is now resting peacefully.  Aragorn leaves just long enough to send word to Faramir and Lady Arwen of the wonderful news.

 

At first my mood is nearly euphoric at this turn of events.  I am so relieved and happy that my elf will recover that I think that there isn’t another thing I would ask for for the rest of my life!  But as the night wears on, my mood changes to angry and then to furious! 

 

Why should my sweet lad have to suffer so much?  And all because of the evil, greedy Haradrim scum who still inhabit Minas Ithil.  The physical pain and agony of mind he has had to endure in the last week, is beyond what anyone should ever have to deal with in an entire lifetime.  I am livid with the thought that he feels shame for having been captured and having lost highly sentimental items to someone who would sell such treasures for mere coin!   Knowing my lad, it will take him longer to heal from that than from the physical hurts and the same goes for poor Faramir, who has become a nephew by choice to me. Suffering from misplaced guilt and shame is something they seem to have in common, even when it is clear that both of them had pure motives and only wanted to do what was right.  Faramir has already confessed to me the guilt he felt for Legolas having been injured, even though there was nothing Faramir could have done to prevent it.  Not to mention the terror they both must have felt on that terrible night of imprisonment when they were wondering if they would live or die.   And what of the goatherd’s boy and his poor terrified family?  To think of an innocent child suffering in such a way makes me all the more determined to seek revenge. 

 

Justice needs must be served!

 

I am about to speak to Aragorn about this when he speaks first, evidently his exuberant mood from earlier having soured as well.   Only he is thinking of something else entirely.

 

“He should have told us!”  He growls out, completely baffling me.

 

“Who should have told us what?” I ask.

 

“Legolas. He should have told us he was still unwell.  I am quite sure this didn’t come upon him just before he collapsed.  He was hiding the truth!”

 

I am a little surprised at the bitterness in his voice, but then it has been a difficult couple of days. 

 

“Perhaps he was, but all is well now and I am certain he did not realize he would become so ill, else he wouldn’t have tried to hide it.  It was an error in judgment.  Alls well that ends well, laddie.”

 

But Aragorn is not going to be so easily placated.

 

“It was a stupid and childish thing to do,” he insists, “and I will be letting him know how I feel about that as soon as he is recovered enough!”

 

Aragorn is a world-class healer and a loyal friend, and I realize he has saved many lives, including Legolas’,  but if he thinks he will be laying a hand on my elf he has another think coming.

 

“If by that ye mean ye intend to take him to task, I assure ye, it will not be happening,” I tell him.  “It is not _your place_ to do so.  When ye assigned me as his guardian, ye passed those sorts of decisions to me and I am choosing to leave it be.  He has already been through enough!”

 

“When he agreed to settle in Ithilien he swore fealty to me as his king, and he blatantly disobeyed my orders,” Aragorn reminds me, looking completely disgruntled now.

 

“Oh for crying out loud, he hasn’t broken a law or committed treason!” I snap.  “He has merely made a childish error, which should not surprise either of us, considering his stage of life.  Besides he has already paid dearly for it.  Mark my words, laddie, ye will not be laying a hand on him.”

 

This is hardly a matter to be handled by the law, and I am the acting parent in this case, first by Aragorn’s own decree and then by King Thranduil’s himself.  There is nothing Aragorn can do and he knows it, something he finds very frustrating if I am to judge by the deepening scowl on his face.

 

  Not that I am worried about that.  We have been known to butt head before when he wanted to interfere with my choices on dealing with my elfling or wanted to take back the handling of him himself.   But he has always conceded to me on such things considering that placing Legolas in my care was Aragorn’s suggestion in the first place.  If he ever thought he could override my choices regarding caring for my elf, he knows better now.  It is something I made clear in the beginning, that once we were bound together, I would be the one to have final say and we did not need interference from a third party.

 

I may value Aragorn’s opinion, especially when it comes to matters of healing and I may respect his station as king, but Legolas does not need anyone snarling at him and threatening dire repercussions for something that happened two days ago, especially when he has already suffered consequences a million times worse than was deserved for such a small misdeed.  When he does awaken I am sure there will be no doubt in his mind that he should have listened to his healer, and doing anything to further belabor that point would be overkill in the extreme and completely unnecessary.  I am not about to allow anything to be said that might worry or upset him as he is trying to heal and knowing that he was facing a ‘discussion’ with Aragorn-or with me for that matter-would certainly be a worry.  Gentle words and plenty of reassurance is what he needs now, not angry glares and harsh threats.  As a healer, Aragorn should know that!

 

Aragorn continues to grumble and complain about foolish youngsters who refuse to do as they are bid by those who have their best interest at heart, and their too-lenient guardians who only create spoiled brats with so much indulgence.  Rather than answering, I only move closer to my elf and invite Aragorn to mind his own business, even though  I recognize that he is speaking out of frustration more than anything else. It has been a long dreadful night and I am irritated and exhausted myself. Still knowing that does not keep us from continuing to glare at one another and even snarl and argue at intervals.

 

This is how Faramir finds us when he knocks lightly at the door and then enters carrying a tray of food that he sets on a bedside table.  He looks from one of us to the other appearing concerned and slightly baffled.  Aragorn immediately turns his foul mood on his son.

 

“What are you doing here in the middle of the night, Faramir?” he growls.  “I thought I made it clear that you were to spend your nights resting and recovering from your own injures.  Are you also incapable of obeying orders from your healer?”

 

Faramir’s jaw clenches and his eyes spark and for a moment it appears that he will argue with his father, but he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes briefly.  When he speaks he sounds meek enough.

 

“I received word that Legolas had recovered and I wanted to see for myself,” he explains, diplomatically. “I also thought the two of you might be ready for a proper meal.  Besides that, it is morning Adar, not the middle of the night.”

 

Morning already?  I look out the window and sure enough the night sky is thinning to the grey of dawn.  Aragorn at least has the courtesy to flush at his outburst, no doubt realizing he is taking his frustration out on the wrong person.

 

“Oh, so it is,” he admits.  “My apologies, my son.  It has been a difficult couple of days and the time has gotten away from me.”

 

“It could have been made easier had you allowed me to help,” Faramir grumbles testily.  “I couldn’t rest for worrying anyway, so I might as well have been here where I could have done some good.”

 

Aragorn smiles fondly at that and stands to embrace his disgruntled son, and ruffle his hair.

 

“Legolas needed my full attention and I wouldn’t have been able to give it if I had been concerned over you as well.  It was really for _my_ sake that you were banned.  I hope you can forgive me Faramir, as I can’t seem to help worrying over you even when it is not entirely warranted.”

 

Faramir seems to soften considerably at that, but then furrows his brow again as he turns his attention to Legolas, who looks nearly as haggard as he did when I first saw him in the cell in Minas Ithil.

 

“He looks rough, but it is a big improvement from before,” I explain to Faramir.  “At least he is resting peacefully now.”

 

Faramir looks doubtful, but he says nothing more than he is glad that all will be well.  After that he reminds us that the food he has brought is getting cold and then sits down to watch us eat it.  He then points out that we both could use a break.

 

“You are both done in, and there is no reason at all why I can’t sit with Legolas while you rest for a bit,” he reasons.”

 

Aragorn agrees to this with the stipulation that he is to be sent for immediately if there are any changes or should Legolas begin to awaken and then leaves the room after giving me one final disgruntled scowl. 

 

  I have no intention of leaving this room until I have spoken to my lad and seen for myself that he is recovering.  I do, however, agree to let Faramir watch over my elfling while I sleep for a while in the other bed in our shared chambers, again after making him swear to wake me should there be a need. 

 

Knowing just how capable Faramir can be when it comes to caring for my lad, for he has proven that well, I am able to sleep soundly for a few hours, waking up late in the morning.  I immediately look over at Faramir who is sitting on the bed and staring intently down at Legolas. 

 

“He is beginning to stir,” he tells me, “we should send for Aragorn.”

 

I hurry to the door to call for someone outside to get a message to the king, only to see that Aragorn is already  there about to open the door himself.  We both start at the surprise of running into one another, but then hurry to Legolas’ bedside when Faramir motions us to do so.

 

“I believe he is awakening,” Faramir tells us.

 

The three of us watch as Legolas moves his head from side to side and then begins to blink and look confusedly up at Faramir.

 

“Lamb?”  He turns toward me and makes a sound in his throat, so I place an arm around him and help him sit up so I can offer him water.

 

“Easy now, just small sips, else it will upset your stomach again.” I advise him before Aragorn takes over and quickly looks him over, pronouncing his fever finally gone. 

 

After that there are explanations to be made, with Legolas arguing that his arm and leg were perfectly healed when he made the choice to work with the borrowed sword.  I am almost relieved to discover that he has little if any memory of the suffering he has been through and hope it will remain that way, though he does need to know how bad things had become lest he decides to defy orders again. Aragorn resolves that by explaining what has taken place while Faramir tells us about the humans who have been subjected to the poison of the fell beast as well.    This seems to rankle Aragorn even more and there is a sharp exchange between the two us where I have to tell him firmly that he is to leave my lad alone, though I do promise to stay with him and make sure he follows orders this time around before Aragorn leaves taking Faramir with him.

 

Once we are alone, Legolas glances up at me, clearly expecting me to scold and lecture over his managing to get into so much bother, but I am not inclined to do so. It is true that he might not have become so ill had he followed Aragorn’s orders to rest, but it is also possible that it would have only postponed the inevitable.  Either way there is no point in hashing it all out now.  Not after the ordeal my elfling has been through.  I am only happy to see him beginning to look better and on the road to recovery.

 

Now that he is clearly no longer in danger, I risk taking a few minutes to send word to his folks that he has recovered, but when I return I can see that there is something on his mind, other than generally feeling unwell.  Of course it will not do to let him fret and worry, so I ask what the trouble is, reminding him that he will feel much better very soon.

 

“But will it be soon enough for me to accompany you on the sortie to the city of the moon?”  he mournfully asks.   I do not like the idea of risking him again in the dark city, but having thought about it already, I realize it would not be right to keep him away. He has as much cause as I do to want to see Minas Ithil cleared of evil. 

 

 

“You may be sure of it,” I promise him, “I will not countenance a march on Minas Ithil until ye are ready to join us. I know it is important to ye to see this through to the end, and so ye shall. I give ye my word.”

 

He looks very relieved and grateful for my words, so when I add that I must be convinced that he is fully fit first, he is quick to agree to that stricture.

 

“That means that ye will do as ye are told by Aragorn and myself until he feels ye are fully recovered,” I warn.   “ I may have protected ye from Aragorn’s wrath this time,  but the next time ye defy his orders concerning your health it will be me ye need protection from.  Is that plain, elfling?”

 

“Yes Gimli,” he says meekly enough, but I can see his lip twitch in an effort not to smile, though it is plain to see in his eyes.  “I mean it, youngling!”  I growl, attempting to sound severe, though I know it is a lost cause.

 

“I believe you, Elvellon, and I promise to behave.”

 

He leans against my shoulder and then looks sweetly up at me with big soulful eyes, making me sigh and shake my head, before chuckling ruefully and kissing his hair.  There is little point in pretending to be tough now.  He has already knows he has me wrapped around his little finger.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A return to Minas Ithil this tale takes place directly after the story The Tower of the Rising Moon

Faramir POV

A light breeze from the direction of the Anduin ripples through the green leaves of the oaks surrounding our Emyn Arnen home. I lift my face to it, breathing in gratefully while the wind ruffles my hair. 

My father beside me chuckles softly, and reaches over to pat my arm. I smile and cover his hand with mine, squeezing for a moment. Aragorn has kindly forgiven me for my error in taking Legolas to the hot springs - and going myself - before he, our healer, had told us it was permitted. Sometimes having a healer for a father is a bit of a trial. At other times, such as just now when he remembers exactly where my bruises aren't, it is a blessing. 

Footsteps from the house announce that Gimli is joining us. 

 

"Have ye been waiting dinner on me?" He asks us disapprovingly. 

 

My father smiles faintly. "It was the polite thing to do," He says. 

In truth, I think that we had both just been enjoying the open air and the quiet. 

 

Gimli snorts skeptically, "Kind of ye, in any case. Pass me the ale." 

 

"Is Legolas well?" I ask him worriedly as I pass him the pitcher and a plate. "It is unlike him to be so snappish." 

 

"It is not so terribly out of character," Aragorn interrupts, sympathy and irritation and worry all mingled in his gray eyes. "My dear sworn-brother Legolas has many fine qualities, but he has always been a terrible patient." 

"Hmmph." Says Gimli, "Of course my elfling isn't well. He is recovering from grave injuries. I would be out of sorts myself, if I were feeling as pained and frustrated as he is." 

"Of course," My father agrees in a conciliatory fashion. "Please do assure him that I do not hold his temper against him, when he wakes. I will check on him again later."

'What fun for Legolas.' I think to myself. 

The meal passes congenially enough. We do not speak much of strategy, beyond when and from where different sources of reinforcements will arrive. Given how useful it would be to have skilled stoneworkers such as Gimli to help us find a way into Minas Ithil, I am relieved to hear that some of his countrymen will be able to join us. 

As we talk, Aragorn keeps reaching out to touch me, pat my arm or my shoulder as if to reassure himself that I am still here. I can tell that something is weighing on his mind. 

 

Just as our dishes are cleared and their pipes come out, Aragorn sighs. "You might as well know, both of you." He says, "That Faramir's mother and uncle have agreed with him, that he should lead the return expedition to clean out Minas Ithil." 

 

I am greatly relieved to hear this. For a moment I am confused as to whom Aragorn is referring to by my 'mother.' Finduilas has been dead for nearly three decades, but he must mean Arwen. She has invited me to call her mother, if I would like. 

 

Aragorn is continuing, "If it were anywhere else in my Kingdoms which had been so invaded, then I would lead the sortie. But since it is Ithilien, the command is yours, my son. Little though I like it." And it is quite clear that Aragorn does not like it. 

 

Despite the implied insult to my abilities as a commander, I feel a great deal of sympathy for my father. "I am sorry, Sir." I tell him, meeting his eyes so that he can see how much empathy I have for his dislike of the situation. "I little like sending you into danger without me to guard your side, even though I am not the best man you could have in that place."

And I have had to watch him ride into danger several times, with the first being my having remained in Minas Tirith after the Battle of the Pelennor whilst Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli went forward to Barad-Dur. I still feel guilt that I did not accompany them. 

 

Aragorn reaches out to cup my cheek, "You sell yourself short, ion-nin. But come, we must begin to think of how to make our plans with you as commander." My father looks to Gimli, rather as if he would prefer to leave command of the force to Gimli rather than me. I try not to be offended. Gimli is by far the most experienced warrior of us, and I do intend under any circumstances to delegate to him the work with finding a way through or under Minas Ithil, aye, and to delegate him the authority to requisition whatsoever aid he requires from any soldier for that task. 

 

Gimli, who is calmly smoking his pipe, also seems sympathetic towards my father. He takes his leave of us not long after, to go and check on Legolas. My father says that he will join Gimli. 

"And you, Faramir, will rest," My father commands in parting. I would object - there are many things that must be done. But I am feeling tired and sore, and right now lying down seems like a very wise idea. 

I have not quite made it to my bedchamber when I am approached by a conclave of my captains and officers. Beregrond, of course, the senior captain and commander of the White Company. With him are Captain Anborn and his adjunct, Lieutenant Hadorion, two of the few surviving officers from when I commanded the Ithilien Rangers. In their wake follows Captain Merendur, who is a recent transfer to the White Company. 

Merendur was a captain in the regular army during the war. He is not, as yet, particularly impressed by me as a commander or the rest of the new White Company. Given time, I would expect that to even out by itself. But we don't really have a lot of time before we might be going into battle together, so it would behoove me to show Merendur the mettle of we who serve in Ithilien. 

"Your Highness, if you are feeling up to it, we have ready the reports you had asked for regarding possible troop deployments and the information collected from the scouts." Beregrond's face is perfectly calm and respectful, but I can tell that he is concerned for me, for whether I am well enough to sit down and review this new information. I don't blame him for that. I've seen my own face in the mirror, with the fading bruises and dark shadows still adorning it. But I can handle this, and it would be best to give them some feedback so that further preparations can be made as soon as possible. 

We adjourn to a small library with large tables for laying out maps and battle plans. I lose track of the passing of time, absorbed by the details of eyewitness reports, troop deployments, and possible routes in and out of the ruined city. The lamps were lit some time ago when we are interrupted by my father. 

"Gentlemen." He greets the officers politely, every inch the King despite his wet hair and healer's robes. "I thank you for your dedication in working so late into this night. Please plan to make yourselves available for further consultation tomorrow afternoon. For now," Aragorn's piercing gray eyes move to me, "I need to speak privately with my son." 

 

The bottom seems to drop out of my stomach and I hide a wince upon hearing that. Beregrond, perhaps suspecting that I am in trouble, gives me a sympathetic look as he leaves. From Captain Merendur, I receive a respectful nod, which is at least progress. 

I dare to meet my father's eyes, opening my mouth to apologize, when I notice how odd he looks. As if much more is wrong than my simply being a disobedient patient in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

"Adar?" I ask, worried. 

"Sit back down and let me see your left foot. Now, Faramir." He says, and it is clearly an order. I'm confused, but I obey. He takes off my soft house slipper, raises an eyebrow at the lack of stockings, and then looks intently at the outside of my left foot, exactly the place where the fell beast sank its teeth into my boot. 

"No infection," He murmurs, appearing relieved beyond measure. He looks up at me, "The fangs did not break the skin?" 

"They did not," I confirm, adding a bit defensively, "I did know to check." 

"Better than you seem to know the way to your own bedchamber," He retorts, swatting my thigh with my slipper before sliding it back onto my foot. 

"I'm sorry." I begin humbly, "I did not mean to...." 

My father holds up his hand for silence. "I do not have time for this now, Faramir. Trust me when I promise you that we will speak of it later. But for now, I have to get back to Legolas. He is having a very bad reaction to the poison from the nazgul-bird's claws." 

 

My heart freezes with fright for our friend. This is clearly no minor matter, for Aragorn's face is drawn with worry. I rise to my feet. 

"I will go with you. I am not a healer, but I have often assisted those who are." 

 

"You," My father says fiercely, "will go to your room, where you will lie down upon your bed, and sleep."

 

I shake my head, "Nay, I would not be able to sleep. Please let me aid you, for you may have need of another set of hands besides Lord Gimli's." 

There is no doubt in my mind that Gimli is by Legolas' side. 

 

Aragorn glares at me for a moment, then walks swiftly to the door and calls for one of his guards. It is Angbor, one of Aragorn's old friends from his ranger days, and a guard whom I find particularly objectionable. Angbor and I exchange mutual looks of skeptical resignation. 

 

"Please escort my son to his room," Aragorn commands him stiffly. "And you," he says, coming back to stand beside me and cup my cheek in his hand. "Rest." 

He presses a kiss to my forehead and then leaves swiftly in the direction of Legolas' chamber. I watch him go, aching to join him and do what I can for my friend. 

As I had predicted, I spend a restless night worrying over Legolas. Surely someone would come to tell me if he had taken a turn for the worst....but still, I worry. When I hear Angbor's voice conversing with someone outside my door, I spring up to see if there is any news. 

"He is recovering." A healer tells me, much relieved. I wonder if Aragorn has had the poor man fetching one medicine or another throughout all of the night. I thank him for his efforts, and am persuaded to lie down again. 

When dawn's light first pinkens the far horizon, I abandon my bed and head towards the kitchens. Angbor shoots me another skeptical glance, but he does go off to find something else to do with himself after I point out that it is already morning. 

I intercept a kitchen maid on her way to the dining room, and relieve her of a substantial tray of food. Even if Legolas is still too unwell for solid food, I would be shocked if either Gimli or my father has taken the time to eat. Aragorn's harsh greeting is enough to nearly make me want to turn on my heel and walk out, save that Legolas looks so dreadfully pale and haggard. Gimli assures me that he is doing much better, and Aragorn that the danger has passed, but it is hard to believe them. Still, I must take their word for it. 

I must also forgive my father for his sharp tongue. It is difficult to stay angry at him when his temper seems to mainly rise when he is worried for me. He reminds of my brother in that, and I had a great deal of experience dealing with Boromir's rages when what he essentially meant to say was, 'I was worried about you. Please don't do that again.' Maybe, in time, I will even become as adept at derailing Aragorn's fits of temper as I had been with my brother's. A non-sequitur and a sweet smile usually worked on Boromir. What will work on Aragorn requires further study, but Gimli gave me good advice, aye, and Legolas too, when they pointed out that being less confrontational would be a good start. 

I am honored by Aragorn's and Gimli's trust in me, that they would leave me to watch over Legolas, even just to go so far as another bed in the same room. I sit beside Legolas' bedside for several hours, growing more and more relieved as his color does improve. He stirs occasionally, seeming distressed. I take his hand in mine and whisper soft reassurances, and he goes back into a restful sleep without truly waking. Just before noon his eyelids start to flicker, so I call for Gimli and send for my father. 

I think that we are all relieved to see Legolas well enough to speak sensibly, but I am rather ashamed at my father's lecturing. Surely it could better wait for later? And in any case, how was Legolas to know that he was sickening of poison rather than simply feeling unwell from his injuries? It's not as if anyone knows much about how fell-beast venom is supposed to feel, and even Aragorn thought that Legolas was already past the danger of reacting negatively to the venom. 

My father won't leave off bickering with Gimli over whether or not Legolas should pay a further price for his supposed foolishness. I kick Aragorn's ankle lightly, just out of Gimli's eye sight. It is what I do when I think he is about to make a mistake in council, but I do not wish to say so openly. Aragorn takes a deep breath, and reluctantly agrees to leave off lecturing Legolas 'for now.' Fortunately for Legolas, he has Gimli to protect him. Would that I were so lucky, although to be fair I would not wish to have to answer to Gimli for my misdeeds anymore than I like answering to my father. 

Hiding a smile at Gimli's pointed invitation that I may return to keep Legolas company later in the afternoon, and his pointed lack of invitation for my father to do the same, I say that I would be honored to return. Then I follow Aragorn into the hallway. As soon as we are far enough away from the door not to be overheard, we turn at the same time and meet one another's eyes. 

This is probably one of those moments when Eowyn and Arwen would say that we look so very much alike. I have even seen the resemblance myself, once when Arwen held a mirror up to us in the middle of an argument. That had certainly derailed the disagreement. 

Perhaps Aragorn is thinking of the same thing, since he smiles faintly and thanks me for coming to offer aid when I did. 

"I am glad that you were able to help Legolas." I tell him earnestly. 

He frowns in remembered worry. "We were lucky." He says. "Lucky that Legolas is strong, and determined to live long enough to drive me crazy for the rest of my life." 

I frown back at him. Sometimes Aragorn's sense of humor leaves something to be desired. "I doubt that is Legolas' aim." I tell him quellingly. 

"Oh?" He asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow even though his eyes have started to twinkle. "What is your goal in life, then, my Faramir? For based upon finding you in a demanding all-night conference when I had ordered you to go to bed, it certainly does not seem to be my peace of mind...." 

Blushing, I protest, "It was an accident, truly. I had not planned to be diverted, but I do have responsibilities as Prince and commander." I had also rather hoped that Aragorn might have forgotten my own misdeeds, in the midst of his concern about Legolas' much more serious situation. 

The twinkle in Aragorn's eyes disappears as he asks, "And what of your responsibility as my son and vassal? Do you not owe me your obedience as your father, king and healer?"

"I do." I acknowledge quietly, feeling rather guilty. "I am sorry, but I did learn much of value from my officers. Perhaps we could speak of that?" Which I would much prefer, instead of continuing to dwell on my mistakes. 

"I think," my father says after taking a deep breath, "That we should go to your bedchamber, and discuss this matter there." 

Again, I have that sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. But what is there to say except, "Yes, Sir." Which makes him frown, so I amend it to Adar. I am not addressing him formally on purpose to irritate him. Or at least not right now, I am not. 

Our discussion after we arrive at my room is rather one-sided. It ends with me bare-bottomed over Aragorn's lap. Still, he is being careful of my bruises and sore state, I can tell. His hand imparts light, stinging slaps upon my buttocks rather than the firm swats which I have come to associate with a spanking from my father. Still, he continues smacking me long after my bottom has gone from smarting to burning, and I weep a little with relief when he is finished. After that he cares for me kindly, helping me lay down comfortably for yet another rest, this time on my stomach. When I awake, Aragorn is reading reports from my officers and discussing them with Beregrond. I get up and join them for a bit, before heading off to visit Legolas. My father watches me wistfully as I leave. I suspect that he is now regretting having spoken so harshly that Gimli has banned him from Legolas' sick room. Who knows, maybe Aragorn will learn something about keeping his temper around those who are just beginning to recover. More miraculous things have happened over the years. 

After a few brief detours to the kitchens, supply closets, and library, I knock upon the door to the guest suite shared by our friends. 

Gimli greets me with a look of relief, an expression which is mirrored upon Legolas' fair face. I hide a smile, thinking to myself that Legolas has probably had long enough, in just a few short hours, to go from ‘grateful to be awake’ all the way to ‘agitating to get up and do more.’ Even if he does not truly feel well enough to do so, I know my immortal friend well enough to know that he would THINK that he should be up and about, and be insistent upon doing so. Which has presumably left Gimli in the rather unenviable position of quelling that desire while at the same time keeping his convalescing charge calm and quiet. 

I am happy to help them, if I can. "You look much better than you did earlier today, Legolas. I am glad." 

Legolas shoots Gimli an appealing glance over my shoulder. "I AM much better." He protests, "Well enough to...."

 

"Keep resting quietly, as ye were bid, elfling." Gimli reminds him sternly, "Or I'll know the reason why not." 

 

"Here." I interject into the silent confrontation that follows, "I found a few items which I hope might amuse you, Legolas." I reach into the bag I have brought with me, removing a large, blank journal and several sticks of charcoal. Over the last year, I have learned that Legolas enjoys sketching. It is an oddly quiet avocation for such an active individual. 

 

Legolas' face brightens gratifyingly. He accepts my offerings with a genuine smile. "Thank you, Faramir." 

 

I can tell that Gimli is pleased as well, whether for his ward's happiness or simply for the prospect of some peace from Legolas' agitation to be up and about. An agitation which I am entirely in sympathy with, remembering my own frustration with forced inactivity when there was so much to be done in the wake of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. 

 

"I also brought you this book of portraits and landscapes." I add, pulling the embossed and bound volume gently from the bag. "It contains smaller copies of famous works, many of which have been lost to time." Gently opening the compendium to where I had earlier placed a bookmark, I show Legolas an image of a red-haired elven woman walking in a flowering garden. "My many-times great-grandmother." I tell Legolas, "Mithrellas of Lorien." 

 

Legolas takes the book from me with infinite care, struggling a bit to sit up until Gimli and I aid him in that endeavor by rearranging his pillows. 

 

"She looks not unlike you, Faramir." Legolas exclaims with interest as he examines the portrait, pointing to Mithrellas' high cheeks. "Well, you, but an elf, of course." He amends. 

 

"I've always liked to think that I have a more handsome mustache." I jest softly, moving to stand so that I can see the page as well, "And that Prince Imrazor's wife was far prettier. But that aside, yes, my uncle and Boromir both noted that I favor her, as did my mother." Both had said so in affection, but only Boromir had likened me to a pretty female elf. I had taken offense then. But it had been a child's offense, quickly soothed by my brother's bright laugh and teasing smile. 

 

Legolas' comments were mere interested observation, and I smile to assure him that I have taken no offense, and encourage him to tell me more of what he sees. I am told that I have the Princess's smile, although my father says that it is his mother's. Much of what in my features recalls my many-times grandmother now seem as much an inheritance from Aragorn's line, from his long-fathers Elendil and Elros. Still, it is the case that my features are even finer than Aragorn's, my cheeks higher. Also, my red-gold hair is several shades lighter than that of Mithrellas, and tends to wave and curl whereas her crimson mane fell straight nearly to the ground. It could fairly be said that I am, in appearance, not unlike a softened version of my ancestress. 

"Princess Mithrellas was said to have had quite the temper, to match her fiery red hair." I say, before remembering that 'fiery red hair' describes a friend now. 

Legolas' lips twitch into an amused smile, and he glances towards Gimli under his long eye-lashes. "People with red hair do seem to be prone to intemperate outbursts." He muses. 

"Perhaps it is the pointy-ears which lead to intemperate actions." Gimli retorts, although he appears amused more than anything else. "And the color of the lady's poor tresses had naught to do with it." 

"Neither of which explains Estel's temper." Legolas says, accepting his guardian's jest with a grin and a shared laugh. "For he is neither red-haired nor pointy-eared. What think you, Faramir?" 

Given Aragorn's remarkable performance earlier this day, and on certain other memorable occasions when someone he is fond of had done something foolish, I have to laugh as well. 

"He must truly be very angry with me, to have spoken so." Legolas marveled sadly. 

"Ach, no laddie." Gimli begins. 

At the same time I say, "He acted angry, Legolas, 'tis true. Very angry, but in truth he was very scared. More frightened than I have ever seen him before, even when a patrol was late, or when Elboron caught sick earlier this year." 

"Ah...well." Legolas said uncomfortably, appearing both touched and a bit flustered by this evidence of my father's love for him. 

"And that's not the only reason for our friend's temper, laddie." Gimli informed Legolas, providing what I saw as a desired distraction from Legolas' moment of emotion, "Aragorn has only just learned that Arwen and Prince Imrahil have insisted that it be Faramir, not he, who shall command Gondor's forces on the return to clean out Minas Ithil." 

"Oh." Legolas commented, wide-eyed. "I do feel sorry for Estel. But it is really for the best - it isn't his place anymore." 

"That's what I've told him." And told him, and told him, and told him, in fact, with Arwen frequently supporting me. But I suppose that the habits of a lifetime are hard to change, and I do have sympathy for him. I just hope that should one of my own less-than-wise continued activities come to light, Aragorn will remember all of the times he has headed off to lead one foray or another, and go easy on me. 

Besides agreeing with Legolas fervently, I try to hide my relief. I had been somewhat concerned that Legolas and Gimli would prefer that my father go with them, rather than myself. He is certainly the more experienced and successful commander, and the more seasoned warrior as well. Which, come to think of it...

"I will need your help, as I plan and execute Gondor's part of this campaign." I tell Legolas and Gimli earnestly, adding with a bit of dark humor, "After all, I have never besieged anyone. I've only been besieged." And I did not handle that particularly well. 

Both Legolas and Gimli immediately promise me their support. I thank them, and add with a faint smile, "I am actually relieved that I will have you both on another level. If either of you think that I am making a mistake, I know that you will not be shy about saying so." 

 

Legolas grins. "Particularly not Gimli." He quips impudently. 

That worthy raises a skeptical eyebrow at the both of us. I can tell that he is not really upset, though. His dark eyes are twinkling. "That's because I'm always right." He tells us, "It is quite a burden to bear, I'll have you know." 

His elven ward is failing to hide a smile. "I've heard Mam say much the same thing." He tells his guardian, his own blue eyes sparkling with humor, "Perhaps you learned it from her." 

"Why, you impudent child. I'll have you know that..." 

A knock sounds at the door. "Oh, look." I say brightly, before my two friends can enter into another argument, no matter how congenial. "Our food has arrived." Lunchtime has long since passed, but small meals at frequent intervals are the best thing for recovering patients, so I think an afternoon snack to be in good order. 

"I'm not hungry." Legolas says, frowning at the both of us. 

"Funny, that." Gimli observes, "As most beings who are well enough to be up and around eat regularly." 

"Try a bit of the broth, Legolas." I encourage, "And perhaps some of the frozen fruit ice. I can assure that Eowyn had nothing to do with either. Our cooks here are quite competent - Arwen selected them herself." 

"I think I'd like to try some of the crushed fruit-ice myself." Gimli says, peering at it with interest. 

Legolas allows himself to be persuaded. Gimli and I help to set up a tray on his bed, and pull up chairs so that we may join him. I think that it is always more pleasant to eat when one is not doing it alone. 

Sitting down to do so, however, proves to still be a bit uncomfortable for me. Despite Aragorn having gone easy on me in deference to our recent ordeal, my bottom still stings. Tired and distracted, I must have squirmed or otherwise given away my discomfort, as Legolas raises an eyebrow in question. At first he seems somewhat sympathetic but amused, then his expressive face quickly changes to reflect guilty concern. 

"Faramir." He asks intently, "Estel did not take out his temper with me upon you, did he?" 

I hurry to put Legolas' mind at ease, assuring him that such had not been the case. In doing so I find it necessary to share the story of how I had come to earn my father's displeasure. I can tell that Gimli does not think much of my having spent the night consulting with my captains instead of resting as my father had commanded. Legolas appears more sympathetic, and I wonder if he, too, has had to prove himself to those of greater age and lower rank who are inclined to think that he has gotten his positions by sinecure rather than earned them. I suspect that he has, even much more so than I, and my heart goes out to him. Even though he has taken this opportunity to get a bit of his own back, and is teasing me. 

"So, Faramir, I am concerned that Aragorn might have been too hard on you, might have bruised your unknowingly. He does have such a temper, and a strong, calloused hand. He might not have even been aware that he'd hurt you...." Legolas said with mock seriousness, a teasing gleam in his eyes. 

Gimli swatted gently at his charge's braids. "No more of that now, my Lad. Faramir asked his questions about our relationship in honest concern and friendship. Stop tormenting him." 

"Fair is fair, Lord Gimli." I interrupt. Still blushing, I explain, "I do not begrudge Legolas his humor. In truth, Aragorn was very gentle and restrained. If anything, Legolas, your needing his aid as a healer gave Aragorn more time to calm down before dealing with me, not that I ever want you to get so sick again to give me a reprieve. Last night Aragorn was so worried that he just asked to look at my foot and then left." 

Legolas chuckles lightly. "I am deeply grateful that Aragorn cared for me, but I think it was lucky for you that Aragorn did not have the time to deal with you just then. 

Not wanting to go into detail about the fell beast having sunk its fangs into my boot, I quickly steer our conversation towards lighter topics. In the midst of a friendly debate between the merits of using different stones in the additional planned construction here at Emyn Arnen, Legolas' eyelids began to flutter and he falls into a light doze. Gimli and I continue our conversation, albeit more softly, until Legolas finds a more restful sleep. 

Gimli puts his broad hand on my shoulder. "Watch over him for me, Faramir. There is something I should go take care of, but if Legolas awakes..." 

"I will send for you at once." I promise, wondering if Gimli is bound to speak with my father. Aragorn does owe Legolas and apology, and I can't make it for him. 

Gimli nods, satisfied, and leaves the chamber. I borrow back one of the pieces of parchment I had gifted Legolas, and begin to draw up lists and charts of how many men, dwarves, and elves I will have under my command, and how they might best approach the miasma of Minas Ithil. 

For a time, Legolas sleeps soundly. When he begins to stir, I put aside my notes and ask a page to fetch Lord Gimli. 

"Did you sleep well, my dear friend?" I inquire, handing Legolas a cup of cool water. 

I cannot tell if Legolas is annoyed about his convalescent status, in some slight discomfort, or merely still sleepy as he accepts the cup without bothering to reply to my question. Legolas drinks slowly, full awareness and alertness gradually returning to his features. 

"Faramir." He asks sharply, when he is done with the water, "Why did Aragorn need to look at your foot?" 

"Ah." I began, this being a topic I had not wanted to discuss with Legolas, for fear of making him feel more guilt, however unfairly he would lay it on himself. But with Legolas' blue eyes demanding an answer, I give one, keeping it as light as I can. "The fell beast, it, ah, nipped, at my boot, when....before the Haradrim corralled it." 

Legolas' eyes widen with horror, as I rush to reassure him, "The fangs did not pierce my boot, no mark was on my skin and no poison entered my blood. I am fine, but Aragorn felt the need to double-check." 

"Understandably so," Legolas murmurs, still appearing shaken. Straightening his shoulders, he apologizes to me, for having put my life in danger. 

"Do not be a fool, gwador," I remonstrate, calling him my oath-brother to emphasize how strongly I feel that he should not blame himself. "You watched my back so that I could get the child away, and you fell when I was not there to aid you. I came back to aid you when you were, however briefly, not able, and then Gimli rescued us both. There is no room for blame there, Legolas. You did nothing wrong. The only note Aragorn and I could think to add in respect of future planning is that we all make a study of the weaknesses of fell beasts, since there is apparently," I say with bitter humor, "One still out there." 

Legolas pulls his knees up to his chest, wincing briefly in pain. I encourage him to lay back down, which he eventually does. With a pained sigh, he says very quietly, "You just don't understand, Faramir."

I am not Legolas, and cannot understand whatever unique experiences he has had which inform his feelings of guilt. All I know is that he has done nothing for which he should condemn himself, and that I must do my best to convince him of such. "Should I blame myself, Legolas, for those who were wounded on the Pelennor in defense of me, after I fell?" I ask him. In truth, part of me still does blame myself, but I have managed - with Aragorn's and Eowyn's help - to quiet it, and move beyond that terrible time. 

 

"No, of course not Faramir," Legolas reassures me immediately. "But you have only been training as a warrior for a mere few decades, aye, and for most of that time your teachers were not the best. You are improving well, but you are still not a soldier of Aragorn's quality, save with your bow. From your eyes, aye, it may seem I made no mistake, but trust me that those elves who taught me how to respond to unexpected developments in the heat of battle, and how to fight unnatural creatures, they would be very disappointed in me." 

Legolas' analysis of my failings as a warrior is disheartening, but I do not disagree with him. I focus on the subject at hand. "I understand that you will not believe me, mellon-nin." I counsel Legolas gently, "Fair enough, although I still feel that you did as well as anyone could under the circumstances. A boy owes his life to you, and his family and village are very grateful. They've sent you several casks of syrup and a heart-felt letter, in fact, which you may enjoy and read when you are feeling better. But if you will not believe me, perhaps you should write to those whose opinions you would consider valid- your elven arm masters- and see what they would say. And I only advise you to do such because I cannot imagine them disagreeing with me, or finding fault with your actions in this instance." After all, it’s not as if Legolas could put eyes in the back of his head. 

"He will do no such thing!" Gimli objects heatedly, having rejoined us just then. 

"But, Gimli!" Protests Legolas, who had quite clearly been entertaining that idea once I had presented it. 

"Mahal's hammer, you're both young fools!" He criticizes, fixing us both with a firm glare. "Legolas, I've told ye, and I've told ye, as has Faramir, that we were the ones who were there, and that you have nothing to feel guilty for. You did nothing wrong. Unexpected disasters occur in combat, no one can be prepared for everything. But you will not be writing folk who were not there to ask their opinions. I won't have it. And if ye continue to pile guilt upon yourself, then you and I will be having words once you are well." With Legolas now apologetic and docile, Gimli turns his gaze upon me, "And I doubt your father would approve of any lingering guilt ye may feel either, Faramir, so best that ye keep that in mind." 

My mind thoroughly boggled, I nod obediently. 

"Now, then." Gimli continues in a bracing tone of voice, seemingly at peace with the world and wishing for Legolas and I to share his pleasant mood, "Why don't we speak of something else?" 

Legolas folds his arms, and sulkily inquires as to what my captains had had to report the previous evening. 

"Ah...." I extemporize, as Gimli and Legolas engage in a staring match, neither of them best pleased with the other. "Ah...I would welcome your input and counsel, Legolas, but perhaps we could speak of such matters soon, once you are back on your feet." 

"I am well enough." Legolas retorts. 

"No, ye're not." Gimli growls at him, going to sit beside Legolas. "And if you don't take recovery seriously, you won't be going anywhere. Faramir may have the command, and Aragorn may be King, but they can't overrule me on that. I'll keep my word laddie, and you'll go, but to go you must be well." 

With that, Legolas' defiance subsides very quickly. He is meek and sweet as he assures Gimli, "Yes, Gimli. It will be pleasant to engage in, ah, relaxing pastimes." 

I wonder to myself if Legolas has ever engaged in relaxing pastimes, let alone for however long it will take my father and Gimli to approve of his beginning to spar once again. Eager to offer my friend some peace of mind, I offer, "I have brought my lute, Legolas. Would you like for me to play for you the song of how Mithrellas, the elven maiden from Lorien, fell in love with the first Prince of Dol Amroth?" 

Legolas valiantly struggles to hide a yawn as he claims that he would like that very much. I am not even through the first stanzas, carefully removing reference to the sea, when Legolas' eyelashes flutter into sleep. 

I cease singing, and just play the rest of the melody quietly. When I have finished Gimli puts one strong hand on my shoulder, and thanks me for coming. 

"Of course," I reply, "Although I am afraid that I might have done more harm than good. I did not mean to get him upset." 

"You worry too much," Gimli replies, with an affectionate if exasperated smile at his sleeping ward, "As does he. You should work on that." 

I can't hide my smile and a huff of laughter, and I don't try. Instead I promise that, "I'll keep that in mind." 

Gimli favors me with a chiding look, "In your mouth, Faramir lad, that sounds remarkably like, "You're wasting your breath, dwarf.'" 

I must duck my head to hide another laugh, before I assure him sincerely, "No, I really will keep it in mind. I do respect your opinion." And I do. 

Gimli nods, satisfied. "See that you do, then."


	4. Chapter 4

DFic: Tower of Dark Sorcery 4/8  
Beth, Susana, Minnie  
A return to Minas Ithil this tale takes place directly after the story The Tower of the Rising Moon

 

[Faramir POV, Part II]

[Breakfast on the terrace of Faramir and Eowyn's Emyn Arnen manor]

Within a hearteningly short period of time, Legolas feels well enough to join us for breakfast. Rather, my father the great healer, once again at peace, more or less, with his oldest friend, had been convinced that Legolas was well enough to take the morning meal with us on the terrace.

I confess that I haven't spent as much time with Legolas as I had hoped to, as Eowyn arrived with Elboron and most of my attention, which is not required for the planning of our campaign, has been given to them. Elboron seems to make Legolas nervous, unfortunately, and in any case a precocious five-month-old baby is not the world's most restful companion. Aragorn seems to agree, and he has been spending a great deal of time with Legolas and Gimli, chuckling together with Legolas over by-gone days. And, occasionally, I think also gently mocking Gimli or I. Gimli has noticed it too, and retaliated last night by sharing stories of Legolas and Aragorn's exploits during the quest. Nothing that would too thoroughly embarrass either party, but enough to have both Eowyn and I laughing.

Eowyn has been helping us plan the campaign and her regency in Ithilien, all whilst caring for Elboron. I constantly find my wife a marvel, and am very glad to see her, but still I feel guilty that I have not been a better companion to my convalescing friend, so I am particularly happy to see him joining us for a meal.

At first Legolas only picks at his food. I, too, have found it difficult to eat heartily when I have an audience of interested healers observing my every fork thrust. I try to engage both Gimli and Legolas in conversation, at least as well as I am able with Elboron sitting in my lap. I think that I have strained carrots in my ear, but at least so far all have been polite enough not to mention it.

My small son seems to be fascinated by Legolas. Or at least Legolas' plate, with its tiny pieces of pan cakes cut up to just the perfect size for him to lean over from my lap to grab with his chubby little fists and stuff into his mouth. I apologize profusely to Legolas, and try to distract my son with a strawberry. Legolas is at first baffled and a little repelled by Elboron's pirating his breakfast, but he soon realizes that Elboron is his ally in this situation. After that, Legolas shares his breakfast with good grace, smiling as Elboron eats a fair amount of the food Aragorn had put on Legolas' plate. Gimli, while at first amused, now appears ready to object.

"All right, daerion-nin, enough of that!" Aragorn exclaims, scooping Elboron out of my arms - and away from Legolas' breakfast. Walking with the protesting Elboron over to the edge of the terrace, Aragorn points out birds and flowers. Elboron is quickly distracted - my son is almost as fond of nature as he is of his grandfather. This frees Aragorn to glower at me fondly while Gimli gently bullies Legolas into eating a decent breakfast.

"You know," Aragorn complains to me, "I'm the Daerada, I should get to be the good guy. It should your job, Ada, to keep your son from eating all of your guests' breakfast."

Aragorn likes to complain about little things like this. But I have become rather adept at turning those complaints around on him. "I am eagerly anticipating the time when you and Arwen produce a younger sibling for me, father-mine. Then I will get to be the fun older brother, and then you can also complain of how I spoil all of our children."

I am rewarded by my father's bright laugh. "How do you manage to make me feel both envious and guilty all in the same breath?" Aragorn inquires of me with affectionate exasperation.

"It's a gift," Says my lovely, traitorous wife with a smile as she butters a biscuit. "He does it to me sometimes, too." She adds.

"It's so good to see you all again. Truly it is," I tell them, with a grin belying my sarcastic tone.

Gimli's dark eyes glinting with what I have come to know as humor, he puts in his own copper coin. "You know, Faramir, manipulating people for their own good is still manipulating them, or at least that is what my mother would say."

Smiling lightly, I ask, "Gimli, do you ever attribute your words to your mother just so that no one will get annoyed with you for the opinion?"

"Never," Gimli claims staunchly, but his eyes are still twinkling. "The things that I say are always reasonable."

Legolas laughs, and takes another two very small bites. I can tell that my father and Gimli are less than pleased, an impression, which is borne out when they insist that Legolas rest again after breakfast, and that only then will they consider whether Legolas may be permitted to join us in our strategy session later this evening.

Eowyn smiles at Legolas sympathetically. She is unabashedly Legolas' champion, and she has a gift for him. I lean back in my chair, interested to see Legolas' reaction and hoping that it will go over well.

"Legolas," Eowyn begins, carefully picking up a leather case and setting it on the table. "I have a present for you. It was meant to be a gift for Mettare or perhaps your begetting day, but...considering everything, I'd like to give it to you now. Rather as a 'thank-you for saving my husband's life, again.' present.

I respond to Eowyn's teasing look by raising an eyebrow. It makes her smile, which is good. She is worried about whether her gift will cause Legolas pain rather than joy.

He carefully opens the case to reveal two long knives of superb craftsmanship, similar to but not the twins of those which were taken from him in Minas Morgul. His eyes widen in surprise.

Eowyn offers anxiously, "They were just hanging, unused, in an old armory in Dol Amroth. Prince Imrahil gave them to me to gift to you, when I asked."

"They were my many-times great-grandfather Imrazor's." I explain to Legolas, "Gifted to him in friendship by Aran Amroth of Lothlorien, 'ere he left on his ill-fated voyage. Aran Amroth received them as a begetting day gift from the hands of your own grandfather, Aran Oropher."

Eowyn and I are both silent as we wait for Legolas' reaction. We have to wait rather a long time as he stares at the gift, his eyes unreadable. After a moment, he starts, rather as if he might have been kicked under the table by Gimli, and accepts the gift graciously. Eowyn sighs with relief and I smile, even though I am not entirely sure that Legolas is not hiding some pain at our gesture. Still, the fighting knives are Legolas' primary weapon, and they are rarer in Gondor than in his native Greenwood. I would not have Legolas go into battle unprepared and ill-armed, even if by arming him I must rub salt in the wound of his stolen weapons.

Breakfast ends. I spend most of the day with my wife and my son, who must leave soon to return to Arwen in Minas Tirith. When the time comes for Aragorn and I to meet with Gimli and discuss strategy, I am both relieved and pleased to see that Legolas has been deemed well enough along on the road to recovery to be permitted to join us. He seems quietly pleased, as well, despite a silent exchange with Gimli the meaning of which I am sure was along the lines of a warning not to overdo.

"Where is Eowyn?" Legolas objects, as he looks around the map-laden table and notes her absence.

"With Elboron." I explain quietly, "Otherwise she would be here. I will catch her up later, and I am sure she will have her own insights to add."

"As certain as the sun rises over the plains of Rohan, she will." Mutters my father, half-admiring and half-annoyed. He and Eowyn can tend to clash, sometimes. My dear wife is young and very sure of herself, and does not always take well to being told that she is wrong by a voice of greater experience. I think that she and Legolas have that in common, at times.

"I have discovered how it happened that the orc and enemy men came to be in my cursed city." I begin, explaining to Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas the reports I have received showing that all of the Witch-King's and Sauron's creatures and men had left Minas Morgul during the war, but had begun to return soon after, when we of Gondor were busy securing our borders and tending the wounds of our war-torn country. Still, I blame myself for not having been more forethoughtful, but do not speak of it.

"At first," I continue, "It was just a few of the orcs who returned to the city. Then word that Minas Morgul was not well-guarded spread, and more of those creatures came to dwell there. The slave traders, led by Haashim, are a more recent addition. Haashim used to conduct his business here," I point to a town in what was once South Gondor, and which is now a de-facto part of Harad, "in the lands claimed by his father, who was the local lord. Haashim's father and most of his brothers died in the Ring War. Haashim did not go to fight, so he is no longer welcome there. He took up residence in Minas Morgul with the scum of the Haradrim slave trade- and that is really saying something - as well as some men who feel that they have no other choices. They have been there for some six months."

I sigh and stare at the map. "Here," I point to a town not far outside Ithilien's borders, "and here, dwell Lords of Harad who are particularly hostile to Gondor, and very bitter over their losses in the late war." I leave markers on the map, indicating each.

"Haashim is making a bid to increase his trade and power by forging an alliance between them, in order to seize this part of Ithilien." With a finger I indicate a relatively small area encompassing a crucial part of the old south road.

"To what end?" Legolas asks, baffled, at the same time Gimli demands to know what they must be thinking.

"In a manner of speaking," Aragorn tells them, hiding a smile despite the gravity of the situation, "It is all your fault. Both of you."

Legolas and Gimli just stare at my father for a moment while I sigh.

"These little jests of yours become somewhat straining in serious meetings, Ada." I complain lightly. He pats my arm lightly in apology, and begs our friends' pardon for his questionable sense of humor, before leaving me to explain that, since the end of the war, Harad has lost much of the market for luxury goods it used to have in Gondor to goods made and services offered by the dwarves and the elves. There had always been enough trade along the ruins of the old road to keep a fair amount of coin flowing from Gondor and lands west into Harad, particularly the border areas, despite the Stewards' embargoes and the risks of confiscation by Gondor's armies.

"Now that Gondor's citizens can legitimately buy high-quality weaponry, jewelry, and woven and crafted goods from your peoples," I explain to Legolas and Gimli, "There are lords and powerful merchants in Harad who find themselves in dire straits. And they think that if they can just surprise us by occupying that small area in force before we are even aware of it, they can get us to concede on trade tariffs. Or at the least get their caravans past the easiest points where we could turn them around."

"We need to move fast, then." Legolas comments, practically quivering with a need to be about solving this problem.

"That would be the first thought." I agree, "However, our spy network has contacts with these Lords," I drop different colored markers in several of the same towns that we know Haashim has reached out to, as well as several others near the border. "There is a good chance that we can convince them not to join Haashim's alliance, by intimating that Gondor is not so ready to concede Minas Morgul and its surrounds without a stiff fight, and by playing upon their mutual dislike of Haashim and his fellow carrion crows."

"And how long will it take to do that?" Gimli asks skeptically.

"Several weeks." I answer. Assuming that I myself can get away from Emyn Arnen long enough to make personal appeals to several of those Lords in my persona as Farad-the-spices-and-weapons-merchant. We could probably manage without me, but it would almost certainly take longer, and I'd rather not take the chance.

"In either case, we are arranging to have a larger force stationed within Ithilien, ready to be called upon for back-up in case the spies' maneuvering fails and some- or all - of these Haradrim lords do align themselves with Haashim." Aragorn explains quietly.

Gimli nods in grim approval. Legolas still seems relieved that the projected time for our smaller force to go ahead and clean out Minas Morgul is long enough away that he should be well-recovered, even by Aragorn's and Gimli's standards.

"I think that it is worth the wait to let our spies do their jobs." I say softly, "If they are successful, then Haashim will be counting on support that he will not receive, which will make him more reckless. And when we do take Minas Morgul, we can permit certain of his men to 'escape' to tell of what happened, thus showing the other lords of Harad both that Gondor will protect her own, and that the word of our spies may be trusted."

The point is debated a bit, but in the end no one disagrees. We move on to discussions of how to best infiltrate the city and exterminate the orcs and men and the fell beast. I encourage Gimli and Legolas to take the lead with respect to those topics, and Aragorn. They have more experience with fighting in a city than I, and with creatures such as the fell beast. Gimli believes that it will take some time to properly evaluate and strengthen an old tunnel into the city, or to build a new one, so that is another point in favor of giving the spies a chance to turn Haashim's alliance against him. It means that it is even more likely that we will have more than enough time to summon the supplementary force Aragorn is holding in reserve should we have the need to. I again bring up the idea of reaching out to Mubin, the man of Haashim's who aided us in the cage, but no consensus on the issue is reached.

Before I realize it, several hours have passed. Aragorn decides that Legolas is looking a 'shade pale.' Legolas vociferously disagrees, until Gimli counsels that he should rest, that in fact we should all rest, and take up this matter again tomorrow.

Several days pass congenially as we prepare for our campaign. Legolas grows stronger, and begins doing gentle stretches and exercises in preparation to return to his normal practice routines. My father and his men and my lovely wife run me ragged on the practice grounds. Many meetings are held, some between just the four of us and Eowyn, and others with all of our captains and our very new spymaster. Both the captain of our spy network and his two lieutenants died during the war, which is another reason I find myself needing to make a personal appearance on the other side of the border.

Aragorn departs to see to certain affairs in Minas Tirith. Later that day, I find myself back at the hot springs with Legolas again, only this time, Gimli joins us. Legolas is feeling well enough to swim and play a bit, which Gimli indulgently permits although I can tell that he is keeping a close eye on Legolas, watching for signs of fatigue. I find myself drawn to stare at the intricate and, well, beautiful tattoos which cover much of Gimli's back and arms. Perhaps beautiful isn't the right word. More, strong and enduring and fierce, perhaps. But also beautiful. I'm not sure if it’s an adjective which Gimli would approve of, in reference to himself.

Legolas comes to rest on the smooth rock bench in the water beside me, smiling slightly. I realize that I am staring at Gimli's tattoos, and blush brightly. Our dwarven friend does not seem to notice as he stands under the small waterfall, but still, it is rude.

"I don't think that he minds, Faramir." Legolas says kindly. "Dwarves don't normally undress enough to show their clan and family tattoos to anyone BUT family. Since he's done so today, he must consider you such, so it’s acceptable for you to look. He'll probably even explain the meaning behind them, if you ask." Legolas wrinkles his nose, "Or make me do it from memory."

It turns out that Gimli doesn’t mind making Legolas show off his impressive memory under the pretext of ordering him to do so. I hide a smile, overwhelmed for a moment by my fondness for both of them, and humbled by the care and affection and trust they have shown me in turn. I am truly honored and warmed to know them both, and to have become a part of their family even as I have become a part of Aragorn's. It makes what I am about to say and do all the harder, but I feel that I have no choice.

"I'm leaving tomorrow to go on a tour of the towns near Minas Morgul." I tell them, expecting to hear some opposition. I am not disappointed. Gimli in particular points out how much of a coincidence it is that I have made this decision just after my father's departure. I point out that I will be taking a fifth of the White Company with me - the fifth which knows about my other career - and that my father has often known me to go amongst my people in the shyer, smaller towns with less of an escort than that. In the end, Gimli and Legolas reluctantly concede to the necessity of my errand, but I can tell that they are not happy. And I suspect that Gimli in particular will be sending my father a letter. I've already done the same. I trust that Aragorn won't be completely happy either, but what I am doing is well within the bounds of what I might have done without need for his approval before he knew that I was his son.


	5. Chapter 5

Legolas pov:

 

I stand with Gimli and watch Faramir and his guard ride off through the trees. I am very uncomfortable with the situation, and not just that I resent the fact that I have been left behind to make ‘further recovery’. I am worried that I know why Faramir has chosen to go on this visit and it has nothing to do with the fact that he waited until Aragorn had returned to Minas Tirith, that was the sort of decision I would have expected him to make I certainly would have done so, it has saved a great deal of unpleasantness for my friend.  
It is not the deception of his Adar that worries me, rather it is the fact that I believe he is doing far more than visiting the smaller towns and villages he is in fact going spying.

Again, I can see the sense in his actions. He has good connections with the traders and is accepted amongst them and is likely to find out more than his newer recruits to his network of spies and our move against Minas Ithil would be all the more likely to be successful if Faramir can stir up dissension and distrust between the leaders of the Haradrim. It is something I would wish to do in similar circumstances knowing that my own expertise and knowledge was greater than those I would send in my stead. It is the duty of a commander to protect those under his orders if he can and Faramir clearly believes this is the right way to go.  
How do I know this? Well because I have spoken to him over it and indeed tried to dissuade him from his decision. My arguments lacked power however for he in turn reminded me of the stories I have shared of my time acting as a spy for Mithrandir, so that I was forced in the end to give way and to repeat my oath that I would not speak of his activities to anyone.  
When Faramir says anyone he means Aragorn and Gimli of course and that is why I am so discomforted to see my friend ride away. Would that I could be going with him. I might at least have provided some small measure of protection. But no I perforce must remain here and keep silent.  
I send a prayer to the Valar to keep Faramir safe and turn away to see Gimli regarding me somewhat suspiciously.

“What is amiss Lamb?"

There is no point in my denying that something is wrong, Gimli knows me far too well. I do not know how it is, but he seems to see through my attempts at dissembling far more easily than many I have known through the long years of my life so far. Perhaps dwarves have some special sense that allows them to recognize when someone is attempting to prevaricate or maybe it is just that Gimli is special and our bond so strong that I am unable to hide my true thoughts and feelings from him, but since I cannot tell him the full truth of my unease I merely shrug and mutter that I wish I were going with Faramir. 

Fortunately my dwarf accepts this, “aye I know ye are finding it hard being trapped here, but every day you get stronger and by the time all is ready here and Faramir has returned ye will be fully fit.”

I open my mouth to say I am already fully fit but close it again when Gimli raises an eyebrow at me and meekly nod my head instead.

“Good lad,” he praises shepherding me back into the house, “now come and see what my lads are working on.”  
His ‘lads’ are a group of dwarves that have come to Emyn Arnen from Minas Tirith where they were working on the repairs to the White City. They are here to plan how best to enter Minas Ithil. Faramir has found plans of both Minas Ithil and Minas Tirith and the two cities which were designed and built by Elendil in II 3320 or shortly afterwards. When it was first built it was very much alike the White City but after it came under the control of Sauron in II 3429 and later when it was captured by the Nazgul and renamed Minas Morgul in III2002 changes were made to the designs so that we cannot just rely upon the original plans. The more knowledge we have of it now of course the better prepared be will be for all of us and so I trot after my dwarf and spend much of the rest of the day in discussions over the merits of black powder, the placements of sewers and culverts of stone and levers which debate completely baffles me and doing my best to recall as much as I can of the interior courtyard that Faramir and I were held in and where the Fell beast is lodged. Unable to give as much verbal information as the dwarves seem to require I resort to sketching the layout of the inner court and this is much more successful so much so that Gimli seeing that I am flagging gives me leave to withdraw telling me that perhaps I would be better to sit in the garden for a while.

 

I am so anxious to remove myself from a discussion that goes way over my pointed ears I do not argue the point. Instead I kiss the top of Gimli’s head and hurry to depart for I have things that I can be doing while Gimli is otherwise engaged with his kin and now is a perfect opportunity.

I return to my chamber and pick up the box where the twin knives that Eowyn presented me with lie. I lift one from the case and examine it. It is beautifully made and perfectly balanced as you would expect from elven blades and they have a family connection but they are not mine and while they are a very welcome gift and kindly meant I have already made an oath to myself that whatever the cost I will get my own knives back.

For now I want to practice with my gifted blades and become accustomed to them so that when we do set off to Minas Ithil I will be comfortable with them and they will sing a song of death in my hands.

It seems I am to be denied this time however for one of Faramir’s servant’s hurries toward me to tell me that a party of elves from my colony has just arrived and that the captain leading them is seeking an audience with me. Still carrying the twin knives I follow him to the courtyard to see who has answered Gimli’s summons from Dôr en Mîriel Gelaidh.

My heart sinks as I see that it is Captain Galathil who is pacing backwards and forwards across the yard although I might have known he would come himself. Galathil is the captain of my guard, appointed by my Adar and one of his most trusted commanders as well as one of the most experienced having come with Oropher from Doriath. He is also one of the officers entrusted with my training and I can expect an interrogation over how my injuries came about and how I could have been so careless as to have been captured by the enemy. Galathil does not approve of any of his warriors failing to live up to the very high standards he instilled in them as cadets.  
“Prince Legolas,” as punctilious as ever Galathil bows over my hand.

“Welcome Galathil,” I manage, “I had not expected you to come in person, we ….” I do not have the opportunity to complete my sentence Galathil immediately jumps in with 

“We were told you were struck down by the machinations of the enemy. It is as I feared when you came south my prince. You place too much reliance on mortal kind. An elven contingent would never have left you in such a place overnight.”

I grit my teeth and swallow down on my first response to this tirade. I remind myself that Galathil has been charged by my father to oversee my protection, and that he has never fully accepted the role the second born or mortal beings have in the life of Arda. Instead I steady my breathing and only when I am certain I am in control do I answer

“I was not left overnight captain. Lord Faramir chose to be captured and imprisoned so that he could be with me, and by his efforts and his alone did I survive the night. Just as only by the determination of Gimli son of Gloin and the healing abilities of Aragorn Elessar did I survive my too close an encounter with the Fell beast. You would do well to remember that Gimli and Aragorn are named Elvellon by my revered father and once he hears of the role Faramir son of Aragorn had in my deliverance I do not doubt that the Prince of Ithilien will also be granted that rare honor.”

 

Galathil sniffs but does not gainsay me so I leave it at that and instead ask for a report on the state of my own demesne. I am relieved to hear that all is well within my colony, but I know that will not long be the case should the evil that is sheltering in Minas Ithil continue to flourish. 

“I am glad you are come,” I tell my captain, “for we are to launch an attack on Minas Morgul and I would have elves at my back when we do so. The fell beast must be killed, for its poison is virulent and even an elf may be killed by the smallest of doses.” I hurry to continue my story before Galathil can ask how I know this. “The creature is injured, it cannot or at least while I was able to observe it, it could not fly. There appears to be an injury to one of its wings but whether it is permanent or no I cannot tell. It has to be destroyed,” I falter, for to kill a creature that has no more control over its environment or who its master is would be seems to be wrong to me but I know that to do otherwise would be dangerous. Maybe it is better to put the creature beyond the power of the evil that still resonates within Arda. “I would have it killed as cleanly and as painlessly as can be.” I add, not wanting any dumb beast caught in the thrall of evil to suffer beyond necessity. 

“We will see to it,” Galathil tells me

“Yes we will.”

His brow furrows at this assertion, “It is not necessary for you to be there my prince.”  
I bite my tongue and do my best to stare my captain down; I have not fought to be part of the company to clear Minas Morgul to be excluded by one of my own folk. “I am determined to be present Captain. There are items within the tower that I intend to recover and there are those within those evil walls that may deserve our clemency. I will not have them all slaughtered for the lack of someone to speak on their behalf.”

Galathil knows when it is best to conserve his arguments and he merely nods then turns the conversation to my own present state of health. It is clear from his words that he is far better informed on what has happened to me than I would wish and my insistence that I am fully recovered does not appear to reassure him.

Instead he looks at the knives in my hands and frowns as he realizes they are not Celair-Lach and Laeg-Gwaneth.”

I sigh and acknowledge his words, “no they are a gift from the Prince of Dol Amroth and the White Lady of Rohan. My own knives were lost in Minas Ithil.”

Galathil hisses at this knowing the importance I attach to my white handled knives even as he takes and examines their replacements. 

“I am determined to recover Lord Oropher’s knives,” I tell him and am relieved when he answers 

“Of course …. But until then you will need to practice with your gift. They are excellently crafted as I would expect, but they are not the same weight or length as your own.”

“I was just about to begin my drills when I was told of your arrival,” I respond.

“Good, I will come and supervise you.”

The thought of Galathil watching me, criticizing my lack of coordination and strength is something that I would do much to avoid. He is an excellent trainer but unforgiving of failings and I do not wish him to know how debilitated I have become for he would be sure to say I should stay behind when they go to confront the evil in Minas Morgul and that I do not want at all.

“First you will wish to present your credentials to your host Lord Faramir,” I remind my captain. “It would be the height of ill manners not to do so.”

“I understood Lord Faramir was away from home.”

Damn him for finding that out so swiftly, “Lord Gimli then, for he is here as the representative of Elessar King of Gondor and my liege lord as well as my own guardian and he has been anxious to consult with you on the upcoming attack on the Tower of the Moon.”

Galathil bows to my insistence, “you are of course correct my lord. I will request an audience with my lord Gimli.”

“And see that our folk are properly settled”

“Indeed. It shall be as you order,” My captain concurs then adds “and then I will come and assess how well you are doing my prince, for it is plain that you are by no means as recovered as you would wish me to believe and my king would never forgive me if I were to let his son go into danger unprepared while there was something I could do to prevent it.”

There is nothing to say to this for Galathil is correct in that thought. Instead I suggest he follow the still waiting servant and go into the house and once he has left me I make my escape, not to the area outside my quarters which is where I will first be looked for but to a piece of flat earth just beyond the hot springs where I might have the privacy and time to acclimatize myself to my new blades.

I begin with basic warm up drills designed to stretch the muscles in my arms and legs then some simple balancing activities before I move onto more complicated movements.

I am breathing quite heavily by the time I pick up my knives and prepare myself for the first full drill. The venom of the Fell Beast has slowed my normal rate of recovery at least that is what Estel has told me but that serves to only heighten my sense of frustration and increase my determination to work through any discomfort I currently feel in an attempt to bring myself back to proper fitness.  
I take a few moments to attune myself to the feel and weight of the blades closing my eyes and ears to the outside world and centering myself. The movements are similar to those of a dance. I swing my arms, twisting and turning fully focused on the steps listening only to the slight swish of the blades as they slice through the air. It feels good to be back into the routine of training even though I know I am by no means as attuned to the dance as usual.  
After only a short period I slow my movements and then bring myself to a complete standstill my arms by my sides and it is then that I realize I am not alone.

 

I open my eyes and see I am being observed by Galathil who is looking less than satisfied by my efforts. 

“Your balance was poor,” he informs me, “and there was no fluency in your movements I have seen cadets with less than a yeni of training do better.”

Even though I know his criticism is just I feel dismayed by the harsh words. I have been injured after all. But I do not mention it for that would only lead to further censure. A warrior does not make excuses for his failures.

“Begin again,” Galathil orders “and this time concentrate.”

I take up my starting position, close my eyes and do as I am bid but almost immediately Galathil calls for me to stop declaring that I am simply not focusing sufficiently. Once more I lift my knives above my head in the traditional salute before working through the exercises again. This time I can feel the strain on my legs and arms almost immediately, but I grit my teeth and force my whole attention onto what I am doing until a different voice intrudes upon Galathil’s critical commentary on my efforts.

“What in Mahal’s name is going on here?”

Gimli!

I falter and drop my stance as my dwarf marches up to me snatching the knives from my loosened grasp and dropping them to the ground before forcing me to sit on the ground as well. 

“Do not move until I say so,” he orders and I am not about to disobey him even if I could. I lower my head and wait for the expected outpouring of anger and it takes me a few moments to realize that Gimli is no longer even looking at me but has faced off with Captain Galathil and is giving my guard captain a thorough dressing down. Words such as nincompoop and idiot frame the address.

“Do ye wish him to be permanently damaged?” Gimli blasts “I told ye when I wrote that my lamb had been badly wounded.” 

“A broken arm and leg are usually mended within days” Galathil retorts “elves heal swiftly and an experienced warrior should be capable of dealing with any residual weakness afterwards without it affecting his abilities.” 

Gimli throws his hands up at this piece of speciousness, “Does your bedamned elven sense of superiority blind ye to the obvious ye fool? My lad is still suffering from the aftereffects of poison from a Fell beast and ye have him prancing about here when even a blind man could see he is not yet ready for such activities.”

I have been quite enjoying this clash until now but it has now taken a turn, which I fear may well lead to both protagonists turning their considerable ire onto me.

“Lord Legolas was already working through the drills when I arrived. I assumed he had permission to do so …” Galathil begins only for Gimli to interrupt him with a wrathful 

“What?” which is aimed at me.

Now I have two irate beings glaring at me, “I only wanted to get the feel of my new blades.”

Gimli turns a baleful eye on me and growls, “ye will be getting a feel of the flat of my hand if ye are not in your chamber by the time I count to ten.”

I have little choice but to hurry to my feet and scuttle back inside thereby missing the end of the conversation between my guardian and my guard captain but decide that presently distance is preferable to too close proximity of an enraged dwarf.

Seeking to ease my aching muscles and the trembling in my limbs I lie back on the bed listening so that I can get to my feet again before Gimli arrives as arrive he surely will. It will not do for me to show that I am in fact tired out by even this short burst of training else he may rethink his choice over my accompanying him to Minas Morgul.

 

I do not wake until well after sundown and it comes as no surprise to see Gimli seated by my bedside watching for me to begin to stir. I cannot believe I fell asleep but obviously I did. I look up at my dwarf through my eyelashes. He no longer looks angry. Rather he looks weary and worried and this makes me feel worse for I know it is on my behalf that he is concerned.

“How are ye feeling now Lamb?”

“Better than I should be. I am sorry Elvellon, I should have been more careful.”

“Aye that ye should. Although whether ye are sorry that ye did not do as ye were bid or whether it is just that ye should have been more careful to make sure no one found out about your flouting of my orders I have yet to decide upon.”

“I … I believe it is the former,” I tell him and he chuckles.

“I wager ye do. Well no long term damage seems to have been done and maybe ye will listen to the advice ye have been given the next time and not do something so foolish as to try and run before ye can walk.” He regards me closely before adding “I think a dip in those hot springs ye are so fond of might help to soothe those sore muscles of yours. Come I will accompany ye. I have told the household not to hold dinner for us. We will eat in our own time.”

The thought of a long soak in hot water certainly appeals so I slip from the bed and join Gimli as we make our way slowly across the grounds. Gimli seems contented enough and I am not so foolish as to speak up about what happened earlier but as ever with my beloved dwarf I do not have to for he says.

“Ye will wonder where your knives are no doubt. They are in my chamber and will be remaining there until I consider ye fit enough to take up training again.”

“Yes Gimli.”

“And Captain Galathil and I have come to an accord on who will be supervising that training.”

Again I answer “Yes Gimli,” making my tone as meek as possible. He is not fooled however for he gives me one of his grins and mimics my answers his dark eyes dancing.

“Yes indeed, Lamb, and if ye know what is good for ye, ye will not push your luck any further before we set out to Minas Morgul.”

“I was only …” I bite my lip and fall silent

“Go on. Ye had best have your say”

“It was just that the knives Eowyn gifted me with are new to me and I wanted to ensure that when we do go I am as ready as I can be to take my place within our ranks. I would not wish someone to be injured or worse because I was not sure enough or fast enough in my actions.”

Gimli stops dead and takes my arms shaking me lightly, “and I do not want to see ye injured either. Give it time laddie, and take things a day at a time. Now that your elves are here you will have plenty to occupy your time. Ye have to come up with a way to catch and kill that beasty in the tower.”

“Eowyn cut off the head. That seemed to work”

“Hmm, ye will not, however, be putting yourself in that close a proximity, now we know that even its spittle can be fatal. No ye will have to come up with a better plan than that and knowing ye and your tender sensibilities ye will wish to kill the beast as cleanly and quickly as possible.”

I nod, for cruelty against an animal, which has had little choice but to do as their masters tell them, is not something I agree with. I even fought with the council in Minas Tirith over the fate of the surviving Mumakil, which turn out to be gentle enough beasts when they are treated properly. Gimli smiles at me and we go on our way in perfect accord with one another.

I enjoy my soak in the hot springs and over the next few days it becomes part of our routine for Gimli and me to end the day there allowing the minerals in the water to ease away the stresses of the day.

Mornings are usually spent in consultation with our allies on tactics, supplies and an exchange of information. With Faramir still absent Gimli takes the lead role as I believe is his right. I can tell that Galathil is less than contented with this and I am beginning to suspect that he is less open to working with my mortal friends than he led both me and my father to believe. He obviously thinks that elves are superior to the second born races an issue that many of the elder elves have held to be true over several ages. But it is something I wish very much to combat. We, as I have learned, all have our strengths but also our frailties and we are stronger together than apart for we complement each other which is surely what Eru wished when he brought us all forth. So, I am keeping a watch on my commander and doing my best to ensure he does not insult or upset too many folk with his assumptions of being in the ‘right’ all of the time. In fact I wanted to send him as part of the group who are spying out the land near Minas Morgul and giving cover to the dwarves who are investigating the foundations and entrances as best they can to get him out of our way but Gimli advised against it saying he preferred to keep him within his view. Perhaps he is right.

At the same time my captain is keeping watch on me. Despite Gimli warning him off he insists on watching the workouts I have been doing under Gimli’s supervision in the afternoons. I do not like to admit this but Gimli has once again been proved right in how he has approached my regaining full fitness. Small steps and plenty of rest have seen me make a much better improvement.

To begin with I did not even touch the new knives but now I am using them and working through the drills I learned when I became a novice warrior in Greenwood.   
Gimli watches me closely to ensure I do not overdo things. He also offers me support and encouragement extending each session every day. I am sure now that when everything is ready and all of the scouting parties and Faramir return I will be fully fit again.

Thinking of Faramir makes me wonder how he is faring. I am worried about him, even though I know he is more than capable of looking after himself. But going into enemy territory carries its own particular dangers even to those as careful as Faramir obviously is. I wish I could tell Gimli what it is that concerns me so, but I have given my word to my gwador and will not break that oath unless things become desperate. I know that Gimli is beginning to fret over the length of Faramir’s absence and a worried dwarf is a prickly dwarf as I know to my cost. Often I have seen his gaze go towards the south and a frown appear on his brow. One of his own has gone beyond his immediate care and he will not be fully content until we see Faramir riding through the archway back into Emyn Arnen.

The elven escort to the dwarves has sent word that they will be back tomorrow. Captain   
Saellind’s brief note sounded positive. If their news contains the information we need and Gimli’s engineers and miners are also content over finding a safe way inside the city then we will all be ready to go, if Faramir returns of course.

“If ye are not careful ye will look more like a shriveled apple than an elf,” Gimli’s voice brings me out of my reverie. He is sitting beside the pool, running a whetstone over the edge of his walking axe.

I laugh and haul myself out to sit beside him, knowing that he will grumble that I am dripping water on him as I do so.

“Here now, careful! I just polished this handle.”   
I scoot a little further along and my eyes see in the distance Galathil. Gimli follows my gaze and mutters under his breath about him being worse than Gollum for following us about and spying on us.

I have to smother a snort as Galathil arrives and offers us a punctilious bow. It is a ridiculous thing to do given the fact that I am sitting here dressed in little more than my bare skin while Gimli is dressed casually in his leather jerkin and a loose shirt.

“Lord Legolas, Lord Gimli.”

“Galathil.”

“I have come to tell you that we have just received word that Lord Faramir will also be returning tomorrow. Shall I call a meeting for all concerned in our endeavor to gather in the afternoon?”

“It is for Gimli to decide that,” I remind him turning deliberately towards my guardian to seek his view.

Gimli does not fail me, “Aye that sounds a good plan to me lad. You do that Galapil. Don’t let us detain ye captain.” He adds as Galathil hesitates. Given his marching orders so succinctly he has little alternative but to offer us a short bow and then to turn on his heel stalking off across the grass. His shoulders as stiff as a board he is radiating that unique mixture of elven restraint and his belief in his superiority given the lack of mortal thralldom for one of the first born. I wait until he is far enough away before I begin to laugh at this latest ‘interpretation’ of my guard captain’s given name.

“Gimli, had I done that you would very rightly be chastising me for my lack of manners,” I scold.

My dwarf is unrepentant, “that elf is so full of his own self-importance that he could prove to be a liability rather than an aide. I doubt that Thranduil knew of his deep-set prejudice of the second born races. I do not wish to dictate to you Lamb but to me he is not the sort I would wish to place my faith in was it necessary for him to work with us lesser beings.”

I cannot bring myself to object to this assessment. Gimli is correct, and if Galathil does not swiftly come to appreciate the strengths of our mortal allies I will have to request Adar recalls him to Eryn Lasgalen. I cannot have as my captain one who is incapable or unwilling to work with our neighbors here in Ithilien. 

 

Faramir returns earlier than anticipated riding in late into the night and I wonder if it is done deliberately so that there are few folk about to note it. Gimli is fast asleep his snores reverberating about the halls, but for some reason I have been unable to find rest and so am sitting in the welcoming embrace of an elm when I hear the sound of horses approaching.

I see the stewards banner and drop down onto the side of the path calling out, “welcome home Prince Faramir” and giving him an extravagant bow in greeting.

Faramir laughs and pulls on the reins bowing from the saddle in return.   
“Mae govannen Prince Legolas” 

I am relieved to see he looks to be uninjured although he looks tired and drawn. He dismounts and hands his mount over to his guard telling him he will walk back to the house with me.

We stand to one side letting the others ride on and out of mortal earshot before I ask him if Farad, the spice and weapons merchant, managed his business successfully.

He does not pretend to misunderstand me, “I believe he has sown the seeds of dissent for our friend Haashim. I hope so anyway.”

“That is good news. Everything here is in a state of readiness. We just await the return of the dwarven engineers from Minas Morgul but the latest report they sent seemed positive. We planned to call a meeting for all of the latest news this afternoon.”

“Excellent.”

Faramir stumbles suddenly and I have to catch his elbow to prevent him from falling. “Are you sure you are well?”

“I am fine, merely tired. I have had to push hard to get to see all of my contacts, but I believe it will be worth it.”

“Hmm, well if I might give you some advice, I would get some sleep before you let Gimli get a look at you else you might find his reaction will have you changing your mind.”

Faramir laughs softly at my warning “That is what I intend to do and why we came back when we did. It is good to see you looking well. Are you fully recovered?”

“I am and even my dwarf agrees I am back to the rudest of rude health. I have been practicing with my knives and am now confident that I can wield them with proper accuracy.”

My friend yawns and I urge him into the house, and up to his chambers promising to give Gimli the news of his return in the morning, “I will tell him not to expect to see you before the noon meal since you arrived home so late.”

“Thank you,” Faramir turns in the doorway, “it is good to be home with my family. I have missed you all.”

I flush with pleasure at these words but cover my embarrassment by responding archly that he will not be saying that if Gimli or Estel ever get to hear about his undercover activities.

He shudders at the thought and with a final good night enters into his room and I go off up the hallway to my own room and spend the last hours before dawn practicing with my twin knives and checking through my stock of arrows.

I do not see Faramir again until we all meet up the noon meal. He looks much refreshed but Gimli is still concerned and inclined to scold him for traveling late into the night but fortunately for both of us does not ask any awkward questions. After our repast we all gather in the hall and I am pleased to see Captain Saellind present and not only present but clearly on good terms with the dwarf who led the expedition to check on Minas Morgul.

His attitude stands in sharp contrast to the hauteur of Galathil but since we have more important issues to deal with I put his future to one side at the moment.

Faramir begins the meeting by thanking Gimli for all his efforts and asking if as a favor he would continue to take charge of the planning stage of the upcoming siege. I can see that Gimli is flattered and Faramir genuine in his words of praise for the organization and professional way things have progressed in his absence.

“It seems to me that every army commander should have a sturdy dwarf at and on his side.” He tells Gimli as he vacates the seat at the end of the table and sits down beside me.

“We have our uses.” Gimli growls as he begins the session by asking for the report from his folk who went to Minas Morgul.

The meeting goes on all through the afternoon and into the evening; the news that has come back from the dwarven miners and engineers is that they believe they can shore up a large culvert sufficiently to allow a small force to enter the city from the south. They have also found other areas where they could lay black powder and so cause explosions and do damage to the walls which could be useful in allowing a full attack to take place if necessary.

My own scouts inform us that there has been no sign of additional forces entering the city and that the Fell Beast has not yet recovered sufficiently for it to fly which is a mercy for all of us who will have to enter the city to flush out the slavers and the Orc.

A hunting party of Orc did go out while my elves were keeping watch and they have been eliminated and their bodies disposed of. As Gimli comments, every little helps!

Faramir assures us that the small settlements nearest Minas Ithil have been secured, and reports of his spies’ efforts to cause division between the townships that Haashim may have looked to for support and we make final plans to begin to move our forces into position so that we can begin the siege and prepare for the final assault on the Tower of the Moon. 

Xxxx


	6. Chapter 6

Gimli's POV

 

I continue watching my insubordinate charge as he hurries to follow my order to return to his chamber. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that he is not yet up to full steam. Even spending the afternoon discussing the layout of Minas Ithil with my engineers was almost too much activity for today, which is why I sent him to sit in the garden to rest in the first place. I should have expected that he would attempt something like this, for he is anxious to get back to full health and he has no sense of his own limitations or what is best for his own well being. I may be dismayed, but I am not surprised as is a common failing among youngsters of all races, or so it seems to me. 

What shocks me, is that his so called captain of the guard, who is as old as dirt and supposedly a consummate trainer is stupid enough to stand there barking at my elf about his imprecision and lack of fluent movements when it is easy to see the lad is struggling just to stand without trembling from exhaustion at the moment. I wait until Legolas is out of sight and then turn to glare at the idiot captain.

“For someone who has been given the assignment of protecting your prince, ye are sure taking a lot of chances with his well being,” I snap, “Do ye want to undo all the ground we’ve gained toward returning him to full health?”

Galathil stiffens his back and looks even haughtier than before, if that is possible.

“I would not have done, had I known he had not been given permission to practice the drills,” he tells me. “Though it seems to me that his mortal healers do not understand elven physiology. He is simply stiff and out of practice.”

I tighten my fists and clamp my jaws together to keep from overreacting to this piece of nonsense, but I cannot altogether contain the growl that comes from my throat. 

“He inhaled the fumes of fell beast venom and was clawed by its toxic talons and then fell two stories before being captured by slave traders. After that he spent the night in a cell being poked at by foul creatures with only the crudest of care-care that saved his life-but crude nonetheless and was too ill to be moved to where he could be seen by a proper healer for another day and a half after I managed to free him. It was three days before he received proper care, and then shortly after when he relapsed from the poison. When exactly do ye think he should have been practicing drills?”

The good captain raises his head even higher and explains in a falsely patient voice as if he is teacher talking to a particularly slow student.

“Perhaps you do not understand. Elves heal more quickly than mortals…”

His tone of voice grates to such a degree that I don’t even let him finish his thought.

“Do ye not even know your prince?” I demand.

“Much longer than you have, my lord. With all due respect, of course,” he answers with cool sarcasm. “ I have known him his whole life.”

“Then ye should know that he is a war hero and an elven warrior without peer, not some incompetent novice! If he is not performing well it is not because of laziness or lack of motivation, but because he is unable to do so for a good reason. He is clearly not yet ready for such activity and needs to work up to it slowly else he might be crippled for keeps.”

“As I have already stated, he was about to go through the drills before I even arrived,” the guard captain makes excuse, “ He must have felt he was fit enough to do so in spite of the mortal healers advice.” This said as if a mortal healer could not possible have any idea about what is best for an elf, something that riles me even more.

“I’ll have ye know that his healer whose advice you so easily dismiss is King Elessar himself, who ye’ve sworn fealty to when ye came to Ithilien to begin with and who was trained by Lord Elrond himself,” I inform him. “And of course the lad felt he was fit enough to train. He has no sense of his own limits just like most younglings. He is determined to be prepared for the invasion never mind that it is not in his best interest to work so hard at it yet. Having known him for so long as ye have, I should think ye would know that about his character already and question him about it rather than join him in his madness to destroy his own good health! Ye should have better judgment than that of a mere adolescent, as experienced as ye are!”

His expression remains stoic, though he narrows his eyes making me wonder if he will speak up to defend his actions. Before he can do so I continue with my tirade.

 

“Be assured, Captain, that ye are no longer needed to supervise my lad’s practice sessions, for I will do so myself once I have deemed him ready for it. If ye have any objections to that ye may take it up with Elessar King or with your own King Thranduil, both of whom have asked me to take charge of caring for your prince’s well being when he is beyond his father’s eye. I hope that is plain!”

Rather than waiting for him to answer, I turn on my heel and follow in the path taken by my elfling, thinking that he needs to also be informed of how things will go from now on when it comes to dealing with his recovery. But by the time I enter his chamber, he is already sleeping so soundly that I dare not wake him. Just as I predicted he is worn out from too much activity far too soon. So I sit on the chair next to his bed and await his awakening. 

As I do so I take out the sketch he drew earlier of the inside of the crumbling stronghold courtyard he and Faramir were held in Minas Ithil, thinking more about what was discussed after the lad left us to supposedly wait for me in the garden. Of course his memory of the place was hazy, but he has a good eye for detail, so I hope his recollection will prove to be correct, for if it does, we may have found a point of entry into the foul city that our enemy will never suspect. Near the southern wall of the stronghold he recalled seeing a small grate in the stone floor where part of a interior door had crumbled away. Of course he could not see into it to know what was below, but it triggered a memory I have myself of the place. 

I entered the city from the front gate, slipping in with a contingent of merchants from what I now know was once a small town in South Gondor, that may have now made an alliance with Haashim. Before the guards assailed me I noticed what appeared to be a public bathhouse. . Since the lower level of the stronghold sits lower than the bathhouse, that means that the grate my lad saw might have been an opening to a culvert that is used to drain water from the bathhouse and the fortress itself. At one time the City of the Moon was a modern and beautiful city that likely was fully furnished with deep tubs and indoor latrines and that opening was a direct line to the drainage culvert. Likely it is a large one too for the bathhouse holds a vast quantity of water in its large pools. Also the water in the bathhouse seemed to me to be slightly stagnant as if the pool was not drained and refilled as often as one might hope for such a place. At the time I had shuddered at the thought of what kind of beings might have befouled that fetid water, but now I see it as a stroke of luck for us. 

For if the culvert can be enlarged enough by my dwarven engineers, we will be able to take a battalion of soldiers down into the culvert and end up in the fortress itself, by using a little black powder to dislodge the stone and blast open the grate. What we need to know is when that bathhouse is likely to be drained so that we can avoid attacking at that time, for it would not do for our contingent to be washed away in a rush of squalid water. The best course of action would be to send out a team of my kin to inspect the area, with a few good elven warriors to defend them from the back while they make their assessment. I decide that tomorrow morning I will ask for volunteers to take on this task and bring back the report, hopefully near the time Faramir and his company are due to arrive. If his spies can find a way to open the front gates there, that will give us two points of entry, a great advantage that means we should be able to sack the city quickly and efficiently. 

I glance again at my sleeping charge and feel my stomach tighten in concern for him. I know how much it means for him to be a part of the sortie to the clean out Minas Ithil and I have promised to make certain of it, and yet I would not like to risk him if he is not fully fit and in top form. To be perfectly honest, I would rather not risk him at all and I have the unworthy thought that perhaps it would be better if he is not returned to health too quickly after all. If he were not yet fit enough soon enough then he would have to accept that the invasion could not wait for him. It could hardly be accounted my fault since I had no real idea of how rapidly an elf should recover from the venom of a fell beast when I made that vow. I am no healer after all…

I quickly squash the idea. Of course I will do all I can to fulfill my promise and make sure everything possible is done so that he will be ready when the time comes. This is what I am thinking about when he begins to stir and awakens sheepish and apologetic and likely concerned over my possible reaction to his earlier disobedience. 

Once again I choose to be more lenient than Gondor’s king might think prudent and only warn him that he is skating on thin ice with me and should keep that in mind. I also let him know that I am officially taking charge of his practice sessions and that they will begin when I feel the time is right. He agrees meekly enough to all of my constrictions and then we head off to enjoy the hot springs we have both grown rather fond of recently. 

After that we spend most evenings there. As promised, once the lad seems up to it I spend time watching him practice and prepare for the upcoming battle. He needs very little direction from me, being completely self-motivated just as I knew he would be. My only job is to offer encouragement and listen to his breathing, so that I can end the sessions when he is just nicely breathless rather than on the verge of collapse as he would be if he were working without observation and direction. Eventually I return the gifted knives to him and watch as he performs one flawless drill after another. In that way his work out sessions naturally increase day by day, until I am certain he will be ready in time for the invasion. I never leave him to work on his own for I have little trust of Captain Galathil, who continues to watch from a safe distance. His dislike of mortals is clearly evident and I do not need him aggravating my lad with his prattle. 

Of course I spend long hours in training myself when I’m not watching Legolas or poring over maps and descriptive histories of the dark city. Anything that can give us the advantage in the skirmish is worth exploring. 

Nights I spend mostly worried over Faramir and his men and how they are faring on their journey. I have been expecting their return for the last several days, and the longer they take the more concerned I become that something might have befallen them. I watch for him often, but he actually arrives when I am not watching. A morning comes when my lad informs me that Faramir and his men arrived deep in the night and will join us for the midday meal.

I am so happy to see the boy in one piece and looking well that I barely mention how foolish I think him to be for continuing to travel throughout the night and arriving at a time when no one was around to greet him and see to his needs. Or perhaps that is what he was avoiding by his unfortunate timing having no desire to meet up with anyone who might fuss over him too much and scold over his state of exhaustion. Whatever the case, I am glad he is back and not just because I am anxious to get to the final planning stage for the attack. 

His arrival is nicely timed with the return of my dwarves and their elven guards. My chief engineer Master Sindri seems to have gotten along famously with Captain Saelind, which is a great relief. It is good to know that there are those among us who are willing to work with former foes and not all of our elven neighbors are like Captain Galathil. 

When we all gather in the great hall to discuss what has been planned and what has been discovered, Faramir surprises me by asking me to continue to take charge of planning the invasion, thanking me for my progress so far. I am touched by his confidence and trust and have to clear my throat a time or two before I can properly respond. 

After hearing the reports from Master Sindri and from Faramir himself, I am gratified to have my supposition proved correct. A large drainage culvert was spotted south of the city and enough stone removed for them to gain entry and make an inspection. This is good news indeed for it means a back entrance into the stronghold itself, where the fell beast is hopefully still being held in the courtyard. When I ask, Master Sindri assures me that it is large enough for a battalion to move through single file and into an area under the stronghold that can be enlarged and reinforced to hold up to thirty warriors. The enlarging can be finished in two days once the engineers know when it is safe to work in the area. One of Faramir’s rangers who has acted as a spy for some time informs us that the waters from the bathhouse are drained every third day, meaning that if the dwarves can begin their work that night, they can have it finished on fifth night. That will give us a four day window to stage the attack. Once the stronghold itself has been cleared out, we should be able to take the city by surprise by pouring out the front doors directly into the busy streets. No one will expect an attack from inside the slave traders’ very den. 

“In the meantime, we’ll have a party positioned at the front gates where we will wait for turncoats or our own spies to open them for us,” Faramir suggests. “That way we have two points of entry, from the front and from the heart of the city. But how will you get up through the culvert into the stronghold?”

“Black powder,” I tell him, “A small amount and a long fuse put in just the right places should make enough of a blast to bust a large hole upwards into the floor without collapsing the tunnel. I have full faith in Master Sindri and his engineers. Know one knows more about working with explosives than they do and they will be able to make it work as we wish it to.” 

Sindri nods his head in answer to my words, but he does manage to throw a rub in our way.

“Aye, that we can Lord Gimli,” he promises, “but even me and my lads won’t be able to do so without making a ruckus. If it is the element of surprise you’re after, it might not work for black powder packs a bang.”

I sigh, for he has a point. 

“Unless we use a distraction,” Captain Saelind offers. “Something that will draw their attention away from the southern wall. Perhaps a third battalion coming over the wall that Lord Legolas scaled on your last entrance into the city? Elves could manage it quietly and without needing much equipment other than their own weapons. ”

I nod, immediately seeing the sense in it. A decoy might be just what we need to make certain we can take the city completely by surprise. It will be a dangerous endeavor for those chosen to do so however. 

“A single line of elves climbing together and reaching the top together,” I agree. “No more than ten would be needed, just enough to draw the attention of those inside and give the impression of an invasion and make them move to defend themselves. There is no point in sending more than that for once the first line is up anyone coming after could be quickly picked off the wall by Haradrim archers. As soon as they reach the top, the powder will be lit and the army underneath released to come to their aid.”

I am about to ask for volunteers to take on the task of organizing that particular job, when I catch a glimpse of my elfling and change my mind. I can see by the longing in his eyes that he would very much like to be a part of this diversion team. I shudder at the thought of him going over that wall a second time, and so instead of asking for volunteers, I promise to think it over and make the assignments in the morning. I know the lad is disappointed so I change the topic by asking his opinions on how to best dispatch the fell beast.

Legolas asks for a parchment and quickly sketches out a surprisingly good likeness of the injured beast in heavy chains just as it was when last we saw it.

“The weak spot is in the neck, right here,” he explains, drawing an arrow to a place just below the iron collar. Arrows landing in the soft tissue of the throat just below the collar should bring it down in the safest way possible with no one having to come to close to it.”

“Perhaps ye could choose your best archers, whose job it will be to attempt the shot,” I suggest, “and then we will split them up among the two groups coming into the stronghold so that whoever ends up being closest to the beast and can get a clear shot first can bring it down. That will also account for the possibility of the shot being missed.”

“Two good archers should be able to manage it,” he agrees. “I will see to it.”

“Thank ye, lad,” I say, inclining my head to my elf and then looking around at the rest of the group. “And thanks to the rest of ye as well. We will meet again in the morning to make assignments and inform ye all on when we expect to make a move. Good evening.”

Excited chatter fills the air as everyone stands up and then moves off to go on about their evening and to await orders for the future. I am just about to suggest to Legolas that we make our way to the hot springs, when Faramir asks if he can speak to me privately. I sigh inwardly, having some idea of what he wishes to talk about, but I do not refuse him. Rather I send my lad off without me, promising to meet him very soon. He makes brief eye contact with Faramir and then looks at me as well. For a moment I think he will speak, giving me all the reasons why he should be a part of the first group of elves going over the wall, but he surprises me by merely lowering his head and turning on his heel to leave.

As soon as he is out of earshot, I turn to Faramir, who is looking at me with way too much sympathy in his face, no doubt feeling sorry for what he is about to say.

“Lord Gimli,” he begins. “I wish to speak to you…”

“Save it laddie, I know what ye are about to say, and I don’t like it,” I inform him in no uncertain terms. “I canna send my lad over that wall another time to face untold dangers and possible death. It is too much, Faramir, so do not ask it of me.”

“I do not ask it of you, my friend,” his voice is soft and properly respectful, but he raises his head to look me directly in the eye. “I merely wish to remind you that Legolas is an elven warrior without peer and one who has seen what is over that wall and knows what to expect. He is the obvious choice to lead the decoy contingent since we already know he can make the climb and will know what to do once he reaches the top. Not to mention that he is a crack shot with a bow.”

“Ye do not need to tell me of his skills, youngling,” I growl, “I have seen them in action on far too many occasions already. I know his qualifications better than anyone.”

“I do not doubt that,” Faramir courteously replies. “And knowing him as you do, then you will also know that it will be his wish to do so. He deserves this honor.”

I want to say that what he deserves is to never have to go into battle again and that he has no sense of what is in his best interest so what he wishes is not something that concerns me. If he had his way every time we disagreed on what he should be involved in, he’d likely be dead by now! But I do not say any of this, for I know Faramir means well. Instead I only nod and promise to keep his words in mind. 

And even though I try not to keep them in mind, I cannot help doing so-I am haunted by them in fact. When I meet up with my elf, it is evident that he wants this with every fiber of his being, even though he hasn’t spoken one word about it. He does not need to for I can see it in the anxious expression in his eyes and the way he bites his lip to keep from speaking. I should end his suffering and give him my decision now. That while he will be a part of the invasion, he will not be risking his neck on that wall again. It is only fair to do so, so that he can have enough time to come to terms with it. 

I cannot bear to allow it. Just the thought of doing so is enough to make me physically sick.

And yet for some reason I say nothing of this, and speak of another concern instead: The sentimental items that we all lost the last time we visited the City of the Moon.

“I know those knives mean the world to ye, Lamb, and I understand how badly ye want them back, but ye must only retrieve theme if they can be gotten without too much risk. No weapon, no matter how valuable or how sentimental is worth your life. I know your grandfather would agree if he were here today to say so. As for the oak leaf pendant, I can make ye another one easily enough, and my own lost items ye are not to even look for. Those things are replaceable. Ye are not. Remember what I say.”

“I will remember, Elvellon,” he promises, and again I can see he would like to say more, but is holding himself carefully in check.

That night Legolas sleeps the sleep of someone who has spent long days working at hard physical labor, while I toss and turn, unable to find rest at all. The responsibility for the upcoming siege weighs heavily on my heart and mind. Mistakes could cost the good health or even the live of those involved. My own dwarven kin, those who trained at my side, and even those elders who did that training, all stand ready to follow my command. Dozens of elves and men await my final decisions and my orders to take their assigned position. Faramir has honoured me greatly by asking me to take charge of planning this invasion, even to the point of putting himself at my disposal and trusting in my strategic abilities. I must not take this duty lightly for life is precious. Even the life of the enemy must not be ended carelessly. Like Faramir and my own lad, I believe that there are those within the city who deserve our mercy and must be given the chance to surrender without being harmed. Many of them are just victims of circumstance.

Most of all I agonize over one life that is more precious to me than any other, even my own; that of my own dear elfling. For I have finally come to the conclusion that he must be the one to lead the small contingent of elves over the wall. I always knew that it was best for the mission for him to do so-he is the only one who has successfully climbed that wall unaided before after all-but now I realize that it could do more harm than good to him personally should I prevent him taking this role. 

Even though it goes against the standards I was raised with as a dwarf growing up in a society that protected my childhood from being sullied by such things as war and battle training until I was well past my majority, I realize that for my elf it is not the same. I want to protect him and help him regain whatever vestiges of his elflinghood might be left. It is my greatest desire to do so. And yet I know that my sensitive lad would suffer greatly if one of his own were injured or killed in a dangerous mission while he was being protected in the back of the lines. Were such a thing to happen it would plague him for the rest of his life. I could never live with myself knowing I was the cause of such suffering. So as much as it pains me to do so, and as much as it goes against my own ideals and moral standards, I realize that it is the right decision to make. There is no real choice. 

I give him the news first thing in the morning, before we meet with the others. 

At first he attempts to take the news serenely, but then a smile splits his face and he gives up all pretenses and throws himself into my arms, thanking me and promising not to let me down.

“Ye would do better to promise me that ye will practice caution, elfling,” I say gruffly to cover my own overwhelming emotions. “I have already spoken to Faramir about having his own outgrown mail adjusted to fit ye. I will brook no argument over your wearing it either, for it is lightweight and will not hinder your movement overmuch. It is a perilous endeavor and I would have ye suitably armored for it. Promise me now.”

“It will be as you say, Gimli, I promise,” he states, and then kisses me on both cheeks and on top of my head. 

“That will do, lamb,” I say, chuckling at his exuberance. “Save the celebrating until after we have cleared the city.”

When I formally give him the same assignment later on that morning in front of the others he accepts it with becoming grace and proper decorum, making me think it was a good idea to give him advance warning so that he was able to contain his child-like enthusiasm in front of his kin. I only hope I have made the proper decision. Only time will tell. 

The next few days pass swiftly and before I know it, I am parting ways with Faramir and Legolas as we all go to our own specific battle stations, our plan of action firmly fixed in our minds and in the minds of those who follow us into the fray. It will not do to appear to be too sentimental at this time, but I cannot help leaving them with final instructions to take care and avoid unnecessary risks, even though I have said the same thing a hundred times before and I know it will make little difference in their actions. But I am rewarded with solemn promises and final warm arm clasps and then I am leading my troop through the woods and toward the drainage culvert that will lead us into the very center of the foul city. 

As silently as possible I enter the tunnel first, followed closely by Captain Saelind who will act as ears to listen for the signal that will tell us when to light the powder. Next comes Master Sindri, who will know how much powder to lay and where to place it. When we get to the enlarged area of the tunnel, everyone stands shoulder to shoulder, with weapons drawn, waiting for the word to charge. 

Master Sindri puts the powder where it will do the most good and then adds a long fuse to the whole thing and stands ready with flint in hand to light it. Just in front of him stands Captain Saelind, whose greater height means he must bend his knees slightly as he listens for the sound of a skirmish and my lad’s loud offer of clemency to anyone who will drop their weapons. That offer is the agreed upon signal to go light the fuse. 

My heart begins to race and I grasp more tightly the great handle of my freshly sharpened axe. I fancy it becoming an extension of my arm as if my blood circulates through the handle and into the broad blade. I hear the voices of my father and grandfather and all who wielded it before me offering their strength and encouragement and as I look around and see the sons of Aulë all carrying into battle the weapons of lost kin I wonder if they hear it too. If it is so, then there are more on our side than meets the eye, for our great dwarven fathers are with us as well. Success is imminent. But at what cost?

As I stand poised to move into action, I concentrate on the intense face of the elven Captain Saelind as he listens intently for our signal. I feel sweat begin to trickle down my neck as I continue to wait for his word for what seems like a small eternity.

Finally he steps back, whispering, “Now!” and the fuse is lit. I hold my breath as the flame eats away the fuse toward the black powder. 

There is a sonorous boom and some falling rubble and suddenly we are pouring out of a wide hole in the floor of the stronghold. As I had hoped the Haradrim slave traders and their orc minions have all rushed to the opposite wall to defend themselves from what they must believe to be an elven army coming over their wall. I see real shock in the eyes of some of them as they turn around to find themselves engulfed by dwarven warriors. 

I slash my way through orc necks easily for our attack was planned to take place mid-day when the orcs would be most sluggish and the main slave traders would be more likely to be inside the stronghold. Soon the ground is slippery with black blood and littered with orc bodies. The first of the Haradrim slave traders are swiftly dispatched while a few of their underlings have laid down their weapons in surrender. 

About this time a group of men rush the door, giving us a moment to catch our breath while they aid us in slaughtering orc and taking the non-combatants prisoner. I am pleased to see Faramir is among them. He fights his way to where slaves are being held in iron cages and swiftly destroys the locks. He then offers them cover and encourages them to run toward the culvert and make their way out of the city and head for the tree line where they will find aid. 

Once the initial rush is over and a space cleared I take a look around for my elfling, whose bright hair makes him easy to spot. I am relieved to see him still on his feet and fighting well. As I watch he breaks away, along with Captain Galathil to where the fell beast is still being held in heavy chains.

They both take aim and two arrows land perfectly below the iron collar, just where Legolas assured us the weak spot would be. Only rather than go down, the hell hawk merely screeches in anger, throwing its great serpent-like head into the air. Two more arrows land perfectly, this time causing the furious bellow to be accompanies by an expulsion of venom. My heart leaps into my throat, as I seem my lad leap out of the way and Captain Galathil to drop his bow. 

It is then I see what the trouble is, for the beast moves its great wings up and down a time or two and manages to lift itself from the ground, evidently having healed enough to be able to do so. Because of this, stronger restraints have been placed on it and that is what has sabotaged our plan. The collar it now wears is much wider than the one we remembered from before. The weak spot is now fully covered by solid iron! The arrows will not take it down!

Legolas has seen it as well, for he shoves his own bow and quiver into Captain Galathil’s arms and pushes him out of the way, before unsheathing both knives and moving closer to the beast. Does he think he can take down this monster with blades barely long enough to puncture its tough hide? Evidently he does, for he advances on it, skillfully avoiding the venom it releases and the spittle that drips from its huge maw. For a moment I am too horrified to move. Legolas is a skilled warrior, and I know he would give it a good fight, but no one alive could take down such a fiend with only a pair of knives. His plan may be to injure it enough that it can be killed by another, but he will die in the attempt. I must not wait for that inevitability.


	7. Chapter 7

(cont. Gimli's pov)

 

DFic: Tower of Dark Sorcery 7/8  
Beth, Susana, Minnie  
A return to Minas Ithil this tale takes place directly after the story The Tower of the Rising Moon

The fell beast rears its head again and then lowers it to my elf’s level as if it recalls the lad and wishes to seek revenge. I offer a prayer to Mahal, lift my ancestors’ axe, and rush forward, putting every ounce of strength into my actions. Just as my elf is about to sink his knife into the beast’s neck, I yank him away and bring my broad blade down at the base of the fiend’s hard skull, successfully removing its head and splattering both Legolas and myself with sticky black blood. I slam into him hard and roll us both out of the way of the pungent venom that puddles on the floor and the lumbering body that crashes to the ground, shaking the very foundation of the crumbling stronghold.

For a moment we can only huddle together on the ground breathing heavily. My elfling looks at me with wide unbelieving eyes, until I reach out to brush a strand of filth covered hair from his eyes.

“Ye may be needing a bath tonight, Lamb,” I tell him, making him half smile and shake his head in disbelief. I get to my feet, pulling him along with me. 

“Come lad, let’s finish this!”

[Faramir POV, just before the allied attack on the city begins]

Crouched in the shelter of young saplings and underbrush not far from the walls of Minas Morgul, I signal to the White Company and our temporary reinforcements to stay covered but make ready. I feel the same just-before-battle shakiness that I always have, that push-and-pull of a struggle about to start and certainty to be put in abeyance. It is one thing to be in danger of losing your life. It is another to see a threat coming, and run towards it, with your brother-rangers at your back. To know that they will fall and die if you make a mistake, or just because they are loyal and you must ask them to go places where no sane man should.

I abruptly pull my thoughts off that course. Today’s attack will be nothing like Osgiliath. This is not going to be a massacre. Between us all -Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, myself, and all of our officers - we have planned well, to both take advantage of our strengths and cover our weaknesses. We are not taking unnecessary chances. If all goes even somewhat according to plan, none of our people will die when for want of planning and reinforcements they might have lived.

This is not Osgiliath, I tell myself again, making myself believe it.

Barely visible to the naked eye, Legolas and the handpicked team of elves begin scaling the wall far to our left. I worry for them, and for Gimli and our dwarven allies, hiding under cover of stone as we conceal ourselves behind trees. But it is Legolas now who is the most at risk, and I who spoke for his right to be there. He had better not die, for I can’t imagine Gimli’s grief. But Gimli and his lot aren’t safe, either, planning to detonate that powder. Gimli best survive the day as well. I cannot imagine either of them without the other.

As Legolas nears the top of the wall, my attention bifurcates. I have one eye on Legolas, but another on the repaired portcullis on the main gate. If Mubin is true to his word, he will open it once Legolas’ group attains the battlements and gives the signal. Some of our spies within the city ‘borrowed’ Mubin yestereve, to ask if he would help us. Even though there seems to be no love lost between Haashim and Mubin, Haashim has entrusted Mubin with a key and command of the men stationed at the great gate. It will raise on his word, if all goes according to plan.

Mubin agreed to aid our attack, and neither Legolas nor myself could sense any falsity in him. Mubin’s own lord and all of his family died in the war. Mubin’s sole surviving relation, a niece, has been taken hostage by an ally of Haashim’s, and will suffer harm if Mubin does not serve Haashim loyally. In agreeing to help us, he has taken a great risk, trusting that we can find Haashim and prevent him from escaping, and that we can find a way to free his niece.

Still, Mubin’s aid is not absolutely certain. The man understandably fears the consequences of aiding us, and besides, I can imagine that betraying your people is not an easy thing, no matter how unpleasant ‘your own people’ are.

Then Legolas is at the top of the wall, his elves scrambling up beside him. He gives the signal, and the gate begins to creak open. While the Haradrim are all running towards Legolas’s diversion, the White Company heads for the gate at a dead sprint. Archers run with slightly more care along our flank, ready to pick off sentries and anyone else who is too quick at figuring out what is going on. More archers and a back-up force cover us from the trees. Haashim’s men and the orcs, while vicious, should be no match for our numbers. Sending more men into a city where the very stones abhor us would not be wise, and the streets are small enough that we would just be getting in one another’s way, easier targets for the more city-wise Haradrim to ambush and kill. We did the same in Osgiliath, although in the end their numbers were too large for it to matter. 

We are at the gate, and there is no more time for me to think. Just as well. The King my father worries over me with a sword, for he has yet to see me off the practice courts. Actual battle is horribly easier than practice, for me. Time seems to slow, giving me enough opportunities to disarm and disable my opponents, killing them only where that is not a safe option. Since I am in the front rank, I have no option but to kill if I can, this day. 

We move quickly through the city. At the first major intersection, I send a third of my force in either direction, to pick up stragglers and secure the city behind us. My group and I move forward to rendezvous with our allies in the main courtyard the Haradrim and orcs have been using as their base of operations. 

We are almost ambushed into a blind alleyway. We quickly rally and defeat the resistance of the several dozen or so Haradrim who had surrounded us but a moment before. Still, I need to stop to call some of my more experienced men to heel. There are very few survivors from Osgiliath or the Ithilien rangers, but there are several with me now. And more kin of theirs, who have enlisted. Enough that I eventually have to order any man taking revenge upon our enemies to the rear. Just because they are now at our mercy when once we were at theirs is no good justification to slaughter them out of hand, or to make their deaths more painful than they must be. As much as I can understand why my men are enraged, as much guilt as I feel myself, we cannot become what we oppose. Above all, we must keep moving. Only one man must be sent to the rear. The others remember our true purpose, and soon enough we have won our way to the courtyard.

All is pandemonium, there, but in an almost orderly manner. Well, orderly at least from our side’s perspective. Gimli and his dwarves are chopping – quite literally chopping – their way through the orcs with ruthless efficiency. The elves’ arrows seek out enemy blood through even the smallest gaps in armor, and since we surprised them, many of the enemy are not even armed. Legolas sees me across the courtyard, and nods towards me. Well, to my left, so I duck and then gut-stab the unfortunate orc who had managed to get in between myself and my guards.

Much as we suspected, our dwarves and elves were already holding their own here, although I am glad we did not take the chance that they weren’t. But there was another reason we made haste to get here. This courtyard is where the Haradrim keep their prisoners, and their slaves, and even their servants.

Mubin had warned us, but I had already known. Once our enemies know that they are overwhelmed, they will kill their captives. I delegate Captain Beregrond to command the bulk of our company, while myself and several other rangers who speak southron go to free the slaves. It is quite cathartic for me, opening the cage in which Legolas and I were imprisoned and seeing those poor souls within it heading towards safety by the wood. I would actually like to burn these cages, but that will have to wait for later. And possibly such a hope is unrealistic in any case, since we can probably use the cages to keep any captured Haradrim secure until we can bring them to justice.

Just as the last of the captives make good their escape, I hear the loud thrashing of dread wings and an angry, terrifyingly familiar cry.

The Fellbeast. It lives, and has armor of its own around its throat. And it is close to Legolas, too close for me or my men to aid him even though I immediately give that order. We are moving towards them, and I am wondering if Legolas might die here and no on the wall as Gimli had feared . But thank Eru, Gimli has already seen his ward’s plight, and gone to Legolas’ rescue. I do not know if I have ever seen a more awe-inspiring blow than that one axe throw of Gimli’s that severed the beast’s body from its head, nor if I will ever see it’s like again. But, thank the Valar, both of my friends are safe. We reach them in time to surround them and give them a bit of breathing room. Before any time at all, they are back in the fray, and not long after that, it is all over.

Well, all over except the clean up. If it could really be called something so innocent, a phrase that implied scrubbing with soap and water rather than patching up holes in their men and then their enemies, and moving the enemy corpses into a pile to be burnt. It had taken three dwarves and twice as many men to move the hell-beast. Most of the dwarves were occupied with evaluating the structural integrity of the parts of the city that had been shaken in the blast. Gimli and Legolas, as well as Galathil and the other elves who had been caught in the spray of the fell-beast's black blood, had been sent to bathe. None of them had been happy about it. 

"To...bathe?" Legolas had asked me, as if I might have gone mad, "When we should be securing prisoners and scouting the rest of the city?" 

"Yes, mellon-nin." I assure him, "Their blood may be as poisonous as their venom. I do not wish to take the chance - it must be washed off of all of you." 

Gimli seemed somewhat torn, and certainly reluctant, but he did not outright refuse. 

"It’s a waste of time, tithen-gwador nin." Legolas argued, appealing as my older oath-brother. 

"It may well be, but I think that it would be my father's wish. Tyrant in the healing halls that he might be, his skills there are worthy of respect," I pause, and then add, "Nor would I wish to face his wrath should either of you, or your elves, take hurt from your bravery in facing the fell-beast solely through my failure to realize that the blood might be dangerous. Please." 

The 'please' alone seemed to be having some effect on Legolas, but in the end Gimli made the decision for both of them, by simply telling Legolas to stop arguing and towing him off in the direction of the baths. The other dwarves and elves, including Galathil, reluctantly followed. 

The bathing did not occupy them for long. When they rejoined us, we were still moving men towards the healer's temporary shelter, a task made more difficult by those of the enemy who took being cared for as an opportunity to take another stab at ridding themselves of us. So far, only one healer had been wounded, and that a minor cut. The enemies are now being bound hand and foot before being taken to the healers, and several soldiers accompanied each. 

Legolas started off to join his fellow elves, who were removing weapons from the enemy dead and then stacking the corpses near the drain in the middle of the courtyard. Gimli caught his ward's sleeve, and hissed something emphatic but quiet. I pause to watch them for a moment before remembering that I have seen them act thusly before. Just after one skirmish in Ithilien. Gimli had kept Legolas away from the clean up, not solely because the elf was in trouble with his guardian, but because Gimli thought it best to protect Legolas from as much of the terrible parts of war as he could. I can see some sense in that, but I can also understand why Legolas would feel demeaned by such protection, and what it implied of his hardiness. I would have felt the same at fifteen. I wrack my brain for a compromise, then hide a smile as I see one of my men approaching with a wound on his hand which looks suspiciously like a dog bite. 

"Are you having some trouble corralling and caring for the enemies' horses and hounds, Kasim?" 

"Aye, Captain." Agreed the dark-eyed young Kasim. "how did you know?" 

"It was a lucky guess." I reply, straight-faced. "Perhaps Prince Legolas would be so kind as to lend you his assistance. He has an uncommon way with animals." I know that Kasim had been hoping for my own aid, but I have far too much left to deal with, in making sure the city is entirely ours now and in preventing the escape of any of their enemies. Haashim, most importantly, is still unaccounted for. We have blocked all of the routes out of the city that we could find, and with the dwarves to help us figure out where the nooks and crannies might be, I am fairly confident that we will find the unpleasant man in due time. Perhaps we should let Gimli handle him, I think with what I am afraid is a not-very-nice smile. Gimli did do such an excellent job of handling the fell-beast, after all. 

Our uninjured captives, being herded into their own cages, give us strange looks. Clearly, they had not expected to see dwarves, elves, and men all working together to end their foul enterprise. It is, indeed, a strange new world we live in. I myself had never thought to be lucky enough to consider both an elf and a dwarf to be the kin of my heart, but it is a world I like, a hopeful world, and one that I would fight and die to protect. 

Most of the orc are dead. I have never known them to surrender. Normally they fight to the death unless their master calls them back. A few of these here did try to escape. I believe that one succeeded, we have patrols keeping an eye out for him. To my shock, two of the orc surrendered. Or, rather, tried to, since the elf they surrendered to killed the first one and would have killed the second if I had not stopped him. The orc who surrendered is imprisoned in a cage of his own, all of his limbs bound closely. 

The clean up proceeds as well as it can. Gimli is a great boon, he and his dwarves helping us to flush out the hiding Haradrim. Legolas works wonders with their hounds and horses, to such an extent that Legolas convinces their own hounds to hunt their masters. Several of the Haradrim slave traders, trapped under rubble and expecting a slow death, are almost relieved to see us. Others must be carefully dragged, clawing and slashing, from their hiding places. 

After we have finished with one of those difficult captures, I idly note Legolas discussing something with Mubin out of the corner of my eye. But then one of my scouts comes to tell me that they've captured Haashim's bursar out by the tree line, and I must go talk to him. 

On my way to interrogate the bursar with Mubin at my side, we pass a group of shackled enemies being taken by some of my men towards the cages in the center of the courtyard. One of them must not have been securely manacled or even properly disarmed, as he managed to get loose and fly at Mubin. The furious Southron's knife gleams brightly in the sunshine, as he cries out for the death of Mubin the traitor. 

There is no time to make the situation safe. All I can do is step between Mubin and his attacker, so I do that. My guard reacts too late to stop me. 

The captive's knife skitters along my mail, before cutting a line of pain down my lower right side, along my hip bone. Far enough to the side and not quite deep enough to have hit anything important, I note with relief. I pull it out and drop it through the bloody grate at my feet even as Gimli and Beregrond and my startled guards are pulling our assailant away. 

"Do a better job of searching their worthless hides for weapons, soldiers!" Gimli sternly ordered my shame-faced rangers. "A valuable ally and your own prince were nearly killed by your carelessness!" 

My men swear that they shall do better, as I try to catch my breath. Mubin is looking at me as if he has never seen me before. He extends his hand to me, in the way of a Southron sealing a trade alliance. "Thank you, Mad Man." He says gravely. 

I return the gesture, somewhat baffled as to what has been traded, but to refuse it would be an insult. We sent our spies off to secure his niece's safety last night, but she is still in danger, so he has risked much more than just his own life to help us. He owes me nothing. 

"Faramir." Says Gimli intently, coming to my side, "Are ye hurt, lad?" 

"No." I assure him, "His blade grazed my mail, but I am well enough." And I am well enough, nor was that technically a lie. Yes, I've been cut, but the knife had been clean, shining in the sun. No chance of poison. And it was just a little cut - not even an inch into my side. A sharp pain at the time, but now one easily enough ignored. I have a job to do, one of the first military tasks which my father has entrusted me with. And I will not fail him. Many of the most important tasks still await. 

Gimli pats my shoulder and tells me to be more careful. "Remember," he tells me, "Ye have family and friends who are rather set on the idea of you coming home safe and sound."

"I will keep that in mind, Uncle." I tease him, making reference both to the affection and esteem I hold for him, and to his rather peremptory way of telling me what I should do. 

Gimli but raises a red bushy eyebrow, and orders me again to be more careful, but I think that he is amused. 

Mubin, Beregrond, and I interview the bursar, while Gimli continues to supervise his dwarves in their survey of the city. The bursar directs us to their treasury, but does not know the answer to the more important question of where Haashim has gotten off to. I put my hand to my side as I contemplate what to do next. The slight graze I took from the assassin's knife is bleeding a little more than I would like, I can tell by the wetness in my side. The unpleasant thought that there might still be enough of the stimulants I was taking to stay awake while I was playing the spy in my blood to make me bleed more than I should from such a small wound. But there is nothing I can do about that now, and I can rest, and see a discreet healer, once Haashim is found. 

We still do not know where he is, but the treasury is something, though. Haashim might be there, or might have been there, such that we can pick up his trail from there. 

I look around for Legolas, planning to ask him and Gimli both to accompany me there. I cannot find his blond head anywhere, yet I can see many of the horses and hounds which he had been working with. 

"Where is Prince Legolas?" I call out. 

Immediately, I have Gimli's full attention. A few moments later, I have Galathil's as well. 

The last place that I saw Legolas, had been speaking with Mubin, so I turn to question him. 

"Prince Legolas asked after the location of Master Haashim's personal quarters." Mubin answers, taken aback, and quite evidently not understanding the significance of his answer, as both Gimli and I do. 

Our eyes meet, and I can see the fear and anger both in his. The fear is the strongest, and there is love and frustration mixed in there too. I would not want to be Legolas when Gimli gets ahold of him, but first we must find him. I desperately hope that Gimli's displeasure is going to be the greatest of Legolas' problems. 

"You will lead us to Haashim's chambers, Mubin." Gimli growled, "As quickly as ye can." 

Mubin is not a fool. He agrees at once, and we all take off at a run. Dwarves are, apparently, great sprinters. I struggle not to fall behind Gimli, as does even Galathil. We are accompanied by some of Gimli's dwarves, several other elves, and my guards. To Beregrond I had quickly delegated the rest of my duties with regards to the rest of the mopping-up. Legolas is more important. 

Fortunately, finding Legolas's trail is not that hard. We only need follow the path of dead or tied-up enemy bodies. We know that we've gotten close when we encounter the fleeing Haradrim. I signal to some of my guards to contain the fleeing enemies, so that they do not return to surround us from the rear. Fleetingly, I am pleased to have finally found the answer to what one is supposed to do with personal guards during a battle, but most of my thoughts are consumed with worry over Legolas. Gimli and I race on. I have to struggle more and more to keep up with him. My side hurts, and I think it odd, for a moment, that my new mail should have given way like that. 

I hear a strange shout from a building just beyond us, one of the few structures to have survived in good condition. Gimli and I enter first, to find Legolas facing several Haradrim, among them our old enemy Haashim. The air seems heavy and thick with menace. Haashim holds a strange blade in his hands, and there is a terrifyingly alien expression on his face. 

 

(Legolas pov just before the battle)

 

Waiting for a battle to begin is always the most difficult part of war at least to me. Elves have a reputation for being calm and composed in whatever situation they find themselves but I have had to work hard to keep up that belief in the years I have been a warrior in my father’s service for I find I am desperate to get on with things so that I do not have to think about what might happen to me or to those I care about during the fighting. Once battle has commenced there is little time for thought beyond that of attempting to stay alive and fulfill the obligations that have been agreed upon. Today I have perhaps the easiest of tasks, for although I know both Gimli and Faramir consider scaling the walls will be difficult, for a wood elf it will be simple enough to achieve. It is not that which is making me want to fidget. I am surrounded by my own folk, all of them tested warriors all aware of their roles and ready to do what is needful. I should feel comfortable but I do not.  
And the reason I am not is that I am not next to my fighting companion of the last year or more Gimli Gloinson. I am not sure when I first realized that we had become a formidable partnership each of our strengths complementing the other’s. More than that, I have come to rely on Gimli’s presence at my side, his humor and absolute faith in our ability to succeed in our endeavors.  
If he were here now he would be grumbling to himself about delays and wanting to get on with things but at the same time making sure that I was ready and not fidgeting as I am wont to do.  
Instead I have Captain Galathil who stands silently resting his hands on his bow and staring up at the walls. I do not think he approves of the plans that we have set in place but then I do not believe he has any faith in the men and dwarves who are fighting with us. I will be loath to send him home but if he cannot overcome his prejudices he will be of little use to me here in Ithilien.

My scattered thoughts are brought back to the present as the signal that everyone is in place is given and we begin our climb. Once at the top, I give my own signal to Mubin who Faramir has persuaded to help us and the gates begin to swing open, which is a relief for I know Faramir was concerned that Mubin might not find the strength to turn against Haashim given the precarious situation his family is in. My elves spread out across the top of the parapet and begin raining arrows down on the milling Orc and men below. I turn my attention to the courtyard where the Fell Beast is kept chained for my main part in this skirmish is to put an end to this creature of Sauron.   
I do not kill dumb beasts with any pleasure not even this one. It is not its fault. Like many it has been coerced into the service of evil but now its only release can come through death and I plan to make it as swift as I can.

With Galathil to provide backup I leap down from the parapet and cross the courtyard dispatching several Orc who try to impede my progress. The Fell beast rears up and I see that its wings are almost healed and soon it will be capable of flight again although who would ride it with the Nazgul gone I do not know. I would not mind trying it myself but I think perhaps others may have something to say on that matter. I do not think Gimli would be amused nor my Adar. Still that is not an option. The beast must die and swiftly.

I step up and lift my bow for we have discussed where the weakest part of its hide can be found just under the neck and a well -placed arrow will dispatch it quickly.  
Beside me Galathil also takes aim. Our arrows hit the mark but all it achieves is to anger the hell hawk. It lifts its head and screeches a challenge. We fire again and this time beside the scream a stream of venom flies in our direction. Galathil steps in front of me as I leap to one side but in seeking to protect me he slips and drops his bow as he seeks to shield his own eyes from the droplets of poison.

The giant beast is now enraged and it is attempting to lift itself off the ground by beating its wings furiously. As it does so, I see that the collar it now wears is much wider and stronger than before. I very much doubt that arrows could pierce it and since if we are not to fail in our quest I can think of only one other way of doing so. I must get in close and attempt to slice into its neck from very close quarters.  
I toss my bow to Galathil unsheathe the knives that Eowyn gifted me with and move forward ignoring Galathil’s call to come back. I will not allow my failure to ruin the whole mission.

To get close enough to do damage I dodge and dance doing my best to confuse the beast and perhaps even manage to get it further entangled in its own tethers. As another flow of venom issues from its mouth, I roll and come up on its other side stabbing at the thinner membrane of its wings. It lashes out with a huge foot, claws clattering on the stone and I have to dart underneath its raised belly to escape. I almost lose my footing on the spittle that is dripping from its maw and have to pull back to make sure I do not get covered in what may well be poison. There is a scream nearby as someone else is not so fortunate and catches a face full of venomous saliva. My momentary distraction is enough for the Fell beast to draw itself up then lower its head almost to my level. Its breath is hot on my skin and the stench from its nostrils is almost overwhelming it opens its huge jaws and just as I wonder if I can get in close enough to stab it in the throat there is a great cry from behind me not of pain but a dwarven battle cry that I recognize very well. I leap to one side as an axe wielded by a great dwarven warrior slices through the neck and the decapitated head rolls to my feet. But as I stare at it I am slammed into with a firm shoulder and am carried away from the falling body.

I blink up into the face of my dwarf and he gifts me with his most ferocious growl then almost gently brushes a strand of hair from my eyes and tells me I am in need of a bath. Then he is hauling me to my feet and we are off again in Gimli’s words to ‘finish this!’

 

It does not take long, for the death of the Fell Beast and the mismatch in numbers is enough to persuade many of the Haradrim that they would be better to surrender than be slaughtered although some prefer to die in battle rather than suffer the humiliation of defeat. The Orc try to flee but are cut down by my archers and the rangers stationed outside the city. I can find no pity in me for their deaths. They have been bred for one purpose only and deserve to die. What would we do with them otherwise? Although I suspect that Faramir would sooner try and bring them back to the light if he could.   
Soon we are down to flushing out small pockets of resistance and I take a short time to check on Faramir and Gimli. That is a mistake for Faramir is channeling his father and demanding that those of us who have been splashed by the blood of the Fell beast ought to go and clean ourselves off.

I turn to Gimli thinking he will be reluctant to leave the fight but when Faramir mentions the chance of poison he changes his mind and insists we at least go and clean off the worst of the blood and gore. He gathers up the others who have also had the misfortune to be splattered. It does not take us long and we are back helping to clear up quite quickly.

For a short time I busy myself by dragging bodies to a place in the center of the main courtyard where they can be burned but Gimli takes exception to this activity. For some reason he does not approve of my doing this kind of work. I know it offends his sensibilities that someone as young as myself should be involved in clearing bodies. We have argued over it more than once but have never yet persuaded my dwarf that such necessary business is not unknown to me.

Today after the close call with the Fell Beast I do not try to push my luck too much. I have a feeling that I am going to be in sufficient trouble as it is once we are free of Minas Ithil, so when Faramir sends Kasim to ask me to help with calming the horses and hunting hounds that belonged to the Haradrim I take the opportunity to move away from both my overanxious friends for I have things that I have yet to accomplish here within the city and Haashim is still to be found.

I catch the eye of Captain Saellind Galathil’s second in command and we hurry after Kasim to where what pass for stables and kennels are. The animals here have been cruelly treated and are both terrified and belligerent, the war dogs in particular are proving to be impossible to go near their jaws snapping at any who approach they need to be calm before we can bring them back to obedience. It takes Saellind and I a little time to work what Faramir calls ‘our magic’ but soon both horses and dogs are calm once more and we can leave it to others to move them out of the city for there is the threat of fire breaking out. 

Once the dogs are on their leashes I suggest that they are used to hunt out any of their former masters who might be hiding within the ruins, it seems fitting somehow and with my elves taking charge of them there should be no danger of them turning on our allies or those poor unfortunates who were held here against their will.

Saellind and I go back to the main courtyard together then I send him off to report our plan to Faramir and Gimli while I catch hold of Mubin and quiz him on where Haashim’s private quarters are situated. Then I look about to make sure that things are under control and that both Gimli and Faramir are too busy helping to sort out enemies from freed slaves to notice me slipping away again for I suspect they would not approve of what I intend to do now. But approve or not I am determined to go off and search for my knives and Gimli’s pendant and if I should find Haashim at the same time it will be my pleasure to either capture of dispatch him whichever is the easiest to achieve.

While much of the city is now in the hands of our forces, I come across a few Haradrim as I follow Mubin’s directions and head for a tower which stands right in the center of the city. Those of my enemies that lay down their arms I leave trussed up for others to find and deal with. Those who prefer to fight? Well I do not wish to boast but their demise comes more swiftly to them than they deserve.


	8. Chapter 8

(Legolas’ pov continued)

Here in the center of the ruined city a darkness seems to linger, shadow and shade, strange green lights and noisome unnatural sounds echo in the silent streets. Gross figures put here to terrify visitors no doubt tower over the walkways and guard the bridge that will take me into the tower where Mubin says Haashim had his private quarters. Mubin cautioned me, in fact begged me not to venture here alone. It is full of ghosts and evil spirits he told me. Even the Orc avoided it if they could and of those forced to enter few ever emerged.  
With such tales as that it is little wonder that Haashim had little need for additional protection in his inner sanctum.

I pause on the edge of the bridge. The sounds of the clear up of our battle reach my sharp ears and only serves to make the silence in this part of the city all the more noticeable.   
I look up at the tower. It is circular in shape and no doubt has a single staircase that will spiral up against the outer wall with wooden floors set at intervals to allow defenders to fire down on an advancing enemy. The narrow arrow slits are dark and empty although some still hold the red and black banners with the serpent symbol prominent upon them while others have iron cages hanging below them with the bones of prisoners still within. 

The air here seems fetid and noisome and for some reason I feel a chill run down my spine. Almost I retreat but then I recall my father’s face when he gifted me with my daeradar’s knives and Gimli’s great delight at my reaction to his pendant. It is wrong that such gifts given with love and pride are held in such a place and by such a man as Haashim. I let my eyes wander over the tower. There is no sign of life on the lower floors but if Haashim is here then it is likely that he will be up in the circular room at the top of the tower and the only way to find out is to go in.  
I unsheathe the knives from Dol Amroth, say a short prayer of protection and set off across the bridge. 

I step in through the doorway which is open and unguarded and mount to the first floor The stench tells me that this is where the Orc have made their nests, but it is empty now although in one corner I see their spoils: clothing, small personal items they have robbed from those they have captured or killed.  
The thought of them putting their foul claws on anything that belongs to either me or Gimli makes me angry and I increase my pace of ascent. Floor after floor is littered with detritus and debris but no Haradrim but my senses tell me that I am not alone and as I look upwards I see grotesque lights and sounds emanating from the tower room. Easing upward I finally reach the top of the tower. Here in stark contrast to the rest of the tower there are cushions, rugs, wall hangings, a lit brazier, and trunks most of which are open as if the owner were in the middle of packing. Haashim is kneeling by one of the open trunks, pulling gold and jeweled pieces from it and putting them into a sack obviously prior to fleeing although how he expects to escape from here I do not know, unless there is some secret passageway that will lead him out beyond the walls of the ruined city. As if realizing he is being observed Haashim swings round a scimitar in his hand he stares as he recognizes me and I allow myself a small smile.

“You” he splutters, “you should be dead.”

“But as you see I am not,” I tell him advancing into the room a step or so. “Put down your weapons and I will engage not to kill you.”

He laughs then throws the scimitar directly at me and I have to dodge to avoid it catching my shoulder. He takes the opportunity to slip further back into the room and snatch up some powder from a bowl throwing it at the brazier.   
Immediately the chamber is filled with a brilliant crimson light, which blinds my eyes. The light is followed by thick smoke which catches in my throat and disorients my senses sufficiently for Haashim to pick up another weapon from a table at the rear of the chamber.  
As he does so he begins to chant in the black speech of Mordor and the sword he is now holding starts to glow. The room darkens, winds howl and voices cry out. Faces swirl before my startled eyes: mouths agape in terror, visions of spirits of those slain by the sword in Haashim’s hand.

I have only known one kind of weapon that can weave such horror and despair before even touching its victim. A Morgul blade!

The weapons of Sauron's greatest servants, the Nazgûl carry dark enchantments that curse the wounds they inflict both physically and mentally but the blades of the nine were all destroyed when Mordor fell and it was thought that no others existed. I watch almost mesmerized and see that it is only the hilt of the sword that is glowing. The enchanted blade of a Morgul-knife fades away into the air once it is taken from its owner, but the evil magic inscribed on its hilt might still retain some of their power and this seems to be the case here. Somehow Haashim has found and made use of a Nazgul hilt calling no doubt on his own capabilities as a sorcerer to enhance its already deadly powers.

He laughs and the sound is chilling. He begins to circle the room and it is my turn to step away looking for something that may give me protection. It crosses my mind to flee but in the distance I hear the sound of feet thundering up the stairs and then several Haradrim warriors push into the open doorway. I am trapped.

One lifts a scimitar but Haashim stays him with a simple, “the elf is mine.” 

The men fall back content to watch and wait as Haashim begins to hunt me in earnest and I am absurdly grateful for the cast off light weight armor Gimli insisted I wear under my tunic for it offers me some protection at least. The foul emanations continue to pour from the sword but now they turn to the pounding of the sea and the calling of the gulls engulfing me in the sea longing sickness and all but driving me to my knees. Only by sheer brute will power do I manage to keep standing and to swing my own borrowed blades in Haashim’s direction.

I can see he is surprised that I have not already succumbed to the power of the Morgul magic and his momentary distraction gains me a small advantage and I slash at his arm. The brazier flairs, but this time I am prepared for the flash and shield my eyes and mouth so that I am able to go back into the attack almost immediately but then he lifts the sword high and calls into the world a stream of the most foul and powerful words of evil that bring forth all kinds of horror from the end of the blade. Haashim’s eyes blaze and he laughs again now totally fixated on me he does not seem to see the movements behind him as more people surge into the small chamber.

“Now, now you will enter the wraith world as my slave” Haashim screams at me as I am beaten further back under the onslaught of the creatures he has conjured up. I raise both of my blades in front of my face and prepare for one last battle, only for a cry to go up behind him.

“Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!” Gimli is come.

Then Haashim is falling forward a dwarven throwing axe through his skull and an arrow from a rangers bow in the middle of his back.

I scramble backwards to avoid the falling sword then leap to my feet prepared to fight on only to find that all of the Haradrim are dead, so I drop a cover over the sword, wrapping it securely with a cord from the window. I am still engaged in this when I find myself hauled bodily upright and shaken until my teeth rattle.

“What were ye thinking ye daft elf?”

Faramir puts a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, “give him a chance to recover his breath before you kill him friend Gimli.”

“He can recover his breath afterwards,” my dwarf snarls even while he now carefully checks me over to ensure I am not hurt. Then he tugs me into his arms and holds me tight as I fall to my knees and lay my head on his shoulder.

“I did not know,” I plead

“Ye mean ye did not think!” He scolds but seeing how affected I have been by this experience he softens his tone. “Let us get you out of here.”

This is dangerous ground, but having come this far I am loathe to leave here without my knives and Gimli’s dagger so I struggle to my feet and say “we have to find our things first”

Gimli is about to explode when Faramir comes to my rescue again and points out that we have to find a way of removing the blade Haashim used safely and that there may still be other items that belonged to the Nazgul that need to be destroyed.

“My lads can soon bring this down without wasting time searching through this foul place” Gimli grumbles but I can see that he is wavering so add softly “Please Elvellon. I know I do not deserve your patience on this matter but I do not wish to think of my knives and pendant or your dagger being left here for eternity with all of this foul paraphernalia.”

He mutters for a moment or two more then gives way, but not until he has ordered both Faramir and me to take great care what we are about and making me give my word not to take any more foolish risks. He then demands gloves for both of us before we are allowed to touch anything.

As the rangers pull the bodies from the room we begin to search. We find several books and scrolls that Faramir feels should go back to Minas Tirith to be examined by Aragorn. We find other items of a more personal nature as well and these Gimli packs in one of the trunks in the hope that we can at least find some of their owners or their families and return their things to them.

The Morgul hilted sword is stowed in a trunk of its own and Gimli locks it and tucks the key inside his tunic. I exchange a grin with Faramir as he then gives us both a look that says we are not to go near it without his permission. I at least have no desire to see it again and will be happy when it is destroyed.

It is Faramir who finds our things and I can tell that Gimli is overjoyed to have his dagger back. He may have downplayed his desire to see it returned to his belt but that was only to prevent me from worrying over his loss as well as my own. In any case he is beaming as he fastens my family pendant around my neck once more but my smile is wider still when I un-wrap a cloth and see my white handled knives.

I clean Celair-Lach and Laeg-Gwaneth carefully to remove any taint from them; then check them for nicks or damage. I will rededicate them to the service of Middle Earth later. For now I am just happy to have them back. I then remove the blades that Eowyn gifted me with. Gimli gives me a none too subtle nudge and nods in Faramir’s direction and I see he is watching and it occurs to me that he may be a little hurt that I am so swift to remove them and replace them with my blades. 

“They are beautiful knives and I was very grateful to have them,” I tell him, “but now I would very much like to offer them to my Adar the next time I go home if you and Lady Eowyn agree, for he gave me his own knives when I was presented with my warrior braids and this will be a wonderful gift to him in return, especially as they came originally from my grandsire and very few of Oropher’s weapons were recovered from Dagorlad."

“Of course. I am sure Eowyn will happy to know that they have served their purpose here and glad that your father will be reunited with something that came from his father originally.”

He says the right things but I hope I have not hurt him. He turns away and begins to look for other items and I exchange a look with Gimli who shrugs.

“I think it is time for us to leave this to others,” Gimli declares, “we are all tired and would be better away from this evil place for now. Once the searching is done my lads will place some more of the black powder at the bottom of this pile of malevolence and bring it down. Fire should cleanse it of any residual evil. And then we will take that accursed blade back to Emyn Arnen and I will personally see it melted and burned to charcoal or dust.”

Both Faramir and I nod agreement with him, and together we stumble down the stairs and out into the city. Gimli does not stop there however. He continues out through the main gate pausing only to inform Galathil, Sindri and Beregrond that we are going to the ranger’s station where we hid when we escaped from the city the first time. He gives no reason for this and none of them ask for one. Instead he sends Kasim for our horses and we mount up. When Galathil asks if he should provide an escort I can think of no reason to refuse him but Faramir speaks up and tells him that his rangers are already close by so there is no need for my elves to leave their work in the city.

I give my friend a look which I hope shows him I am very grateful for his intervention for I know very well why Gimli wants a place a little way away from Minas Ithil and somewhere that is safe, secure and private. His patience with my disobedience and foolishness is at an end and I am about to pay the price in a fashion that is going to leave me feeling very sorry for myself and I have no excuses to offer for whatever the outcome I am still glad I have retrieved our missing belongings. I treasure them all too much to grieve over the discomfort that is to come too much.

I am exhausted however, and when we reach the hidden station I would gladly accept Faramir’s suggestion that we all could do with a rest except that how could I sleep knowing how I have distressed Gimli by my choices and how much he needs to make his views of my choices known to me.  
Instead I say that I am ready to accept my chastisement for my disobedience and would sooner it was delivered now. I have never done well having to wait for either good or bad and know also that my conscience will not allow me any real respite until I have faced up to the consequences of my actions.

Faramir having failed to postpone my punishment says he will go and check the perimeter of the hidden station. He is once again doing what he can to offer me some semblance of privacy and I am grateful for it.  
Gimli merely says that he is not to wander too far away but I know he appreciates Faramir’s thoughtfulness as much as I do.

When we are nominally alone Gimli gives me a long, measuring stare as if calculating how ready I am to accept punishment. I try not to fidget and when I see him hesitate I hurry to say that I understand his anger and his need to bring home my errors in judgment to me. 

“Do ye indeed?” he grumbles, “then tis a pity ye did not think of it sooner and stayed well away from that benighted tower. Ye know Haashim was intent not on killing ye but of making ye his slave?”

I swallow at this reminder, but feel I have to answer honestly “yes, but I would not have gone up into the tower had I known he had such powerful weapons at his disposal.”

“Say ye so? I suppose ye have forgotten what I demanded of ye about those knives of yours and what ye promised me back in Emyn Annun.”

Elven recall can be a curse at times and this is one of them I know very well what was said

 

“I know those knives mean the world to ye, Lamb, and I understand how badly ye want them back, but ye must only retrieve them if they can be gotten without too much risk. No weapon, no matter how valuable or how sentimental is worth your life. I know your grandfather would agree if he were here today to say so. As for the oak leaf pendant, I can make ye another one easily enough, and my own lost items ye are not to even look for. Those things are replaceable. Ye are not. Remember what I say.”

“I will remember, Elvellon,” I promised back then but in the heat of the moment I conveniently chose not to recall it and it almost cost me my life. Had it not been for Gimli and Faramir’s timely arrival I would have been worse than dead and I know it.

“I am sorry,” I offer

Gimli is not to be so easily consoled however and I find myself all too soon over his knee my leggings down about my knees and a heavy dwarven hand falling with painful regularity on my exposed backside and all the while his hand falls Gimli tells me of the terror and fear he felt when he discovered I had gone missing, of his race through the city with Faramir and Galathil at his side, of their joint alarm as they witnessed the red pulsating light at the top of the tower and their rapid heart pounding assent through the many floors only to find me in danger of being skewered on the point of Nazgul tainted blade.  
The pain that blossoms in my rear and my thighs is nothing to the pain I know I have inflicted upon my beloved Gimli and against my good friend Faramir, but still I cannot be sorry for my choice only for the way I decided to carry it through. I should have waited for others, been more wary, less reckless, less rash and yet my hand, which had been curled around Gimli’s calf finds its way to the pendant at my neck and I feel whatever the punishment it was worth it.

Gimli must notice my action for I hear above the rhythmic smacking of hard hand on bared flesh a sigh of gargantuan proportions and then I am swept up into his arms and now my tears begin to fall in earnest and at last I feel free of guilt and culpability and as my eyes glaze over I hear from a distance the soft voices of Gimli and a returned Faramir discussing what we must do on the morrow to complete our mission to Minas Ithil.

xxxxx

 

Gimli's pov

 

As I look down into the guileless face of my supposedly repentant charge, it is hard to imagine this is the same person who only a very short while ago was dodging the venomous spray of a fell beast in an attempt to get into close enough ranges to exchange breath with a it, and then afterwards merrily sauntered off on a mission to get himself slaughtered or worse by a powerful magical sword. There are worse fates than death, and my elfling came within a hair’s breadth of experiencing that today. If Faramir hadn’t noticed him missing when he did…

I shudder at the thought.

And yet now he looks for all the world like nothing more than a well chastised child who is seeking forgiveness for some minor naughtiness. One elegant hand is twined in my beard, while the other one clasps the golden oak pendant at his neck. An occasional sniffle or a hitched breath are the only sounds he makes and if he is not asleep already, he soon will be, while I wonder if I will ever be able to sleep again. The only way I will be able to achieve it would be to tether the provoking child to my side I expect, which is something I am beginning to consider! And the most infuriating part is that I know he thinks it all worth the price even if he will find sitting uncomfortable for the next several days. I am not willing to cause him any real or permanent hurt, but even if I were to beat him hard enough to break bones he would think it worth it, so what am I to do to make him see that his life is worth more than any knife or gold pendant no matter how valuable or sentimental?

The best way to do so would be to bring it home to him that by choosing to do what he did, he did not only endanger himself. Had he spent a moment or two thinking it over, he would have known that someone would come looking for him once it was noticed he was missing and that whoever that turned out to be would be put into danger as well. I am quite sure if I were to ask if he would risk my life or that of Faramir or Galathil for the sake of a knife he would be shocked and horrified at that suggestion and yet that is what ended up happening. He had to be hunted and rescued, so we were placed in danger. He would be crushed to realize it. 

I sigh heavily, knowing I will never point this out. His intention was not to place anyone in danger. In fact I doubt he thought beyond his dismay at himself for losing his knives in the first place and his disgust that a man as evil as Haashim had them in his possession. He was determined that he would have them back at what he thought was any cost, without thinking about what the cost could actually have been. 

In other words he is thoughtless and terribly impulsive, a trait commonly shared among youngsters, especially males, so how can I fault him for being what he is? It isn’t his fault he is having to try to grow up on a battlefield, when most do so in a considerably safer environment. The consequences for mistakes can be very high, even beyond death as we learned today. It is what comes of putting youngsters in situations they are not mentally or emotionally prepared for, and however much I respect our elven and human allies, I will never understand their penchant for doing so. I would not say so, and I doubt I could make either Legolas or Faramir see it, but the fact is, it seems like sheer madness to me.

And it also leaves me in the position of deciding what must be done. What can I do or say that will bring home to my lad the true seriousness of his carelessness, without crushing his tender adolescent spirit or causing him crippling guilt in the process? It is something I will have to think carefully about. 

For now, I allow myself to revel in victory and thank that Valar that we have come away safe, or as safe as can be from something like this. As far as I know, no ally casualties have been reported and our healers are even now working to do what they can for the injured among the prisoners and former captives of the Haradrim. All of our planning has paid off. Our enemies never really stood a chance. Other than Legolas’ little side trip to the dark tower, everything went exactly as planned and in spite of even that, I am pleased at such a positive outcome. 

As I am thinking this, Faramir rejoins us in our little outpost, no doubt after listening carefully to make sure that all sounds of a ‘discussion’ in progress were over with. As expected, he looks haggard and spent, but also happy at the success of our day. I loosen my grip on my lad, in case he wishes to move in order to avoid being seen by Faramir in such a vulnerable situation, but he only blinks a time or two and snuggles in again. Perhaps he feels there is little point in pretending things are different than they are at this point, or maybe he is too exhausted from his experience with Haashim to care.

Whatever the case, Faramir smiles a little wistfully and then, crouching down close to me, begins to talk in whispers about what we must do tomorrow.

“We should give the area one final thorough sweep through the city to make sure there are no stragglers, and then we must do what we can to destroy everything,” he tells me. “Aragorn wishes it to be completely annihilated and I agree with him. That place has been tainted with evil for too long for anything to be salvageable.”

 

“My lads have plenty of black powder left and know how to use it,” I offer, “ I’ll send a team about the city to figure out the best and safest way to lay it and light it.”

Faramir nods in agreement. “Some of the rangers can start some backfires too keep it from spreading too far, and we’ll leave a contingent to watch it closely for a few days to keep it from getting out of hand. After that we’ll have a rotating guard to make sure it remains uninhabited.”

“Aye it’s a wise plan,” I agree, “for now we had better rest while we can. Why don’t ye clean up a bit laddie?”

Faramir begins to rise and I notice he goes pale and sways a little. He steadies himself by holding onto the back of a small chair and when he starts to take a step, I can see he is favoring one side. On closer inspection, I notice his outer tunic is spotted with blood.

“Faramir, are ye hurt lad? Come nearer so I can see.”

“It is only a small cut,” he tells me, “my mail took the worst of it. But would you mind taking a look for me, Gimli? I don’t wish to bother the healers for so small an issue.”

“Of course I dinna mind. Why don’t ye remove your tunic and mail, while I transfer this elfling to yonder cot? I doubt an earthquake could wake him right now.”

I hurry to put actions to words, laying my lad down on the same cot he occupied when we were here before. Only this time I am thankful he is suffering nothing worse than a sore backside. By the time I turn back to Faramir he is standing in trousers and undershirt only and I can see that there is actually quite a lot of blood soaking his clothing. I begin to doubt that his wound is as insignificant as he claims it to be. I gather some supplies and bandages and sit back down on the chair I recently vacated. 

“Shirt off laddie, I need to see what I’m doing.”

Faramir pulls the bloodied undershirt over his head and then hesitantly steps nearer. I grasp him by the arm and pull him closer still until he is almost between my knees so that I can see the half covered wound better. I clear my throat and he unties the ties on his trousers and slips one side of the waistband down just a bit so that I can get a clear view of the wound. There is a copious amount of blood, but when I clean it away I can see that Faramir was actually telling the truth. The cut is only about two inches long and very clean. 

“Was this caused by the knife that was meant for Mubin?” I question him, raising an eyebrow. “Because I recall that ye told me it was nothing at the time.”

Faramir flushes, but is quick to correct me.

“Actually what I said was that it grazed my mail. It did graze my mail, before the mail gave way.”

Rather than answering, I only glare at him and finish bandaging the small cut. After I have finished my task and he is moving away, I manage to apply a smart slap to the back of the leg on his uninjured side. The look he gives me is between embarrassed, offended and stunned. I hold up my hand before he can say anything.

“I also recall ye calling me , ‘Uncle” at the time,” I remind him, I am just exercising my rights as such. Ye know better than to lie about an injury. Would ye allow one of your men to do so?”

“It wasn’t exactly a lie…”

“It wasn’t exactly the truth either now was it, lad?”

He looks straight into my eyes for a long moment as if looking for something, though I know not what, and then drops his gaze before whispering. “No it was not exactly the truth. I am sorry.”

“Ah well ye had best finish cleaning up and then keep still for a while. That little cut is bleeding more than it should be.”

As he moves to do so, I attend to my own patchy ablutions. This human outpost has many things, but one thing it lacks is clean attire that is made to fit a dwarf. I could roll up sleeves and trouser legs, but nothing would be broad enough, so I make do with scrubbing as much filth off of my person and my clothing as possible and then start to look about for something to start a fire with. I could do with a cup of something hot. 

By the time I have some tea steeping in the pot, I notice Faramir fidgeting with the bandage on his side again, frowning as if concerned. Looking closer I see that blood has already soaked the bandage I only just applied.

“Ye are still bleeding?”

“Aye, a bit.”

“Here, lad, lie down for a moment and let me try this again. Maybe ye’re moving around too much.”

I hurry to bring back more bandages while Faramir lays down on a cot and by the time I’ve returned the wound looks just as bad as it did earlier. Alarming amounts of blood are spilling from it, even though the cut itself is small.

“This is not normal,” I tell him, becoming very concerned now, “The blade must have been poisoned. This cut looks fresh even though it happened hours ago. I am going to fetch a healer to see to it. Don’t move!”

“No wait!” Faramir grasps my wrist to stop me from rising. “You mustn’t interfere with the healers. I promise you the blade wasn’t poisoned.”

“And how can ye promise me that, Faramir?” I demand. “ I can see with my own eyes that something is not right, and I am not going to leave ye to bleed to death through your own stubbornness!”

“It wasn’t poisoned, I swear. I can tell you why the bleeding is so heavy and how to treat it, but please don’t bother the healers.”

“Tell me quick then, boy, before the last drop of blood drains from your stubborn hide,” I growl. I have a feeling this story I am about to hear is going to be an enlightening one, but first he needs to stop bleeding. 

He tells me where to find a drawer that contains an assortment of dried leaves, flower blossoms and barks all pressed and dried into bags. I hold up one after another until he recognizes the one he wants and then he tells me to steep it in boiling water. Afterwards I soak the fresh bandages in the brew and then remove the old dressing and begin folding layers of wet bandages directly over the wound. Faramir then tells me I should apply clean dry bandages over the top of everything and tie them off as tightly as I can manage. While I am doing so seems like a good time to hear the story of why this is necessary. 

“It is caused by stimulants,” he tells me.

“Stimulants?”

“Aye, medications I was taking to help me stay awake and concentrate better.” He must be able to see that I do not understand the connection for he adds. “The stimulants thin the blood making it difficult to coagulate for a while afterwards.”

I glance up from my task and see that Faramir is wearing a guarded expression as if he hopes I will ask no further questions, but evidently he does not know me all that well. I intend to get to the bottom of this mystery if it takes all night.

“And exactly when were ye taking these ‘helpful’ medications?” I ask, feeling my teeth beginning to clench in anticipation of the answer.

“While I was checking on the villages,” he explains. “I needed to focus and make haste. It just gives me a little edge and is a common item for rangers to carry in their packs. Aragorn has used them himself many times.”

I know when some one is blowing smoke! And all the extra details about it being a commonly used thing is a bunch of nonsense meant to throw me off his trail. Does he not think I have heard every form of obfuscation ever thought of? I’ve been in charge of the master of it for more than two years! I glare at him through narrowed eyes.

“So ye say! And did Aragorn know ye were taking them three days before ye knew for certain that ye’d be going into battle?”

“No, not exactly, but he was not available for me to tell him.”

“True, but not what I wanted to know and ye know it! Would he have approved of it had he known?”

“Aragorn trusted me to handle things.”

“Also true, but its not what I asked ye.”

When Faramir opens his mouth to give me another pointless true statement, I find my temper is becoming very thin.

“People get wounded in battles, Faramir! They get scraped and cut and stabbed. They get shot full of arrows and lose consciousness! Ye were getting light headed from a two inch cut and now ye’re telling me ye were taking substances that made it impossible to stop bleeding?”

“Yes, it was not well done of me,” Faramir attempts to placate, as I finish tying off the bandage, “ but everything turned out fine.”

“Turned out fine? Turned out FINE? Had it been an inch deeper we might’ve lost ye, ye foolish youth!”

I might be raising my voice a tad, for I hear a gasp from my elfling.

“Retreat Faramir,” he advises, but Faramir doesn’t seem ready to surrender. Instead he becomes as stiff and formal as one can while lying down on a cot.

“I am sorry you are so upset, Lord Gimli, but I did what I had to do. Perhaps you need to calm down. Everything turned out well.”

“Oh Faramir,” Legolas groans, as I feel my face grow hot! 

“Don’t Lord Gimli me, boy,” I roar, “It’s just Gimli! And ye may not think everything turned out so well once your King hears of this idiocy! In fact if I trusted yon elfling out of my sight for ten minutes and I wasn’t afraid ye’d bleed to death, I’d be sending him out to walk the perimeter while we had a very personal discussion about your choices!”

There is a shocked silence as I leap to my feet and stalk out of the cave and into the cool night. I pace back and forth for a bit, forcing myself to breathe in the cold air, and then I rifle around inside my tunic feeling for my pipe. Fortunately I find it there, already half filled with pipe weed and for a mercy I have a flint as well. I light up and inhale instant relief, thinking that Faramir should thank the tobacco farmers of Ithilien for saving his neck this night. 

When the pipe weed is spent, I still feel a strong throbbing in my temples. I glance at the entrance of the outpost and know I cannot go back in there yet. Normally a dwarf feels at home in small, enclosed spaces, but I know that the hidden station is not big enough for the three of us right now. So instead, I fill the bowl of my pipe again and smoke another one and take a walk out to the hot springs where the fireplace of the outpost is vented to so that the smoke is well camouflaged by the steam. It is a clever design and well hidden, so I lean back against a tree to observe the steam and the smoke mingle, watching as my own pipe smoke blends in and floats away in the mist. Even though I have been gone for a good long while, once the second pipe is spent, I reach for my pipe weed again. Unfortunately the pouch is empty of all but a little tobacco dust, so I tap out the ashes against my boot and place the warm pipe back in my inside pocket. There is nothing left to do but go back inside. 

I hope that I have been gone long enough that both of my companions will be asleep so that I can avoid any further communication tonight, but that is not the case. What I find instead Faramir and Legolas in some sort of intense conversation, and Legolas strapping his quiver on his back. Both turn toward me as I enter and I can see the obvious relief on their faces. Perhaps I have been gone longer than I originally thought! Eyeing my elf, I see that he has found the chance to bathe and change while I was gone and now looks as if he is about to go back into battle.

“What exactly do ye think ye are doing, elfling?” I demand. “Ye are meant to be resting are ye not?”

“I was about to go looking for you, Elvellon,” he tells me, a frown creasing his youthful features.

“Well as ye can see there is no need. Put the bow and quiver down and put yourself back on that cot. And I mean now!”

I see Faramir on the other cot let out a deep breath and lay back against a nearly flat pillow. He places a hand over his eyes, but wisely chooses to say nothing. Legolas, on the other hand, seems almost affronted.

“You were gone a very long time, Gimli,” he accuses me, “We were getting worried…” Seeing my scowl, he cuts the sentence off halfway as he realizes his mistake. But it is too late.

“Is that so?” I snarl, yanking the bow from his hand and leaning it against the wall. “Ye were worried were ye? Perhaps the pair of ye thought I had gone off alone to pick fights with ultra powerful wicked villains, or to bleed to death through a scraped knee?”

I know I sound bitter, but it has been a difficult day and I despair of making either of them understand the fact that they are not invincible and that death can come instantly to those who are careless or rash. The thought of losing either of them for such foolish reasons makes my skin crawl! 

I almost regret the sarcasm, though, when my lad drops his gaze and then peeks up at me with suspiciously damp eyes, so I say nothing more on the matter. He has had a difficult day as well. We all have. So I merely close my eyes and sigh and then reach out to squeeze his hand.

“Never mind, Lamb. All is well now. Ye’d better sleep while ye still can, for tomorrow will be another long and busy day.”

He hurries to comply, while I ask Faramir about his wound. It seems that the herb treatment has worked and he has finally stopped bleeding. He is properly contrite as well and apologizes for his thoughtless words of earlier, though not his dim-witted and dangerous actions, so his apology comforts me very little. Still I just take a quick look at the cut and then pat his arm before heading off to take some respite myself. 

But sleep remains a stranger, for my thoughts are haunted with the letter I very well might have been writing this day had things turned out differently. What words does one use to explain to a devastated parent t that his only child had suffered a fate even worse than death and for no better reason than to recover a couple of knives and a decorative piece of metal? I cannot imagine it! And yet perhaps forcing myself to do so might be a small answer to my dilemma. 

Rising from my cot, I find a quill and inkpot and quickly put my thoughts down on parchment. Even though this letter will never be sent, a lump comes to my throat as I write it. I carefully dry the ink and then fold the parchment and place it next to my heart. I will save it until the time is right and then I will give it to my elfling to read and then destroy. Perhaps then he will understand and take better care in the future. Soon after I am able to drift off for a few hours of rest.

The next morning, I can tell that my companions are wary, both speaking softly and walking a wide circle around me and I know it’s up to me to break the ice. I clear my throat to get their attention, and then I tell them how things will be so we can get on with out duties.

“We have things to do this day, so after this we will save discussing what happened yesterday for another time.” 

I turn my eyes toward Faramir, who already looks resigned to his fate. 

“You, Faramir, will be telling your father King all the details of the wound you sustained yesterday or I will.” I order and then wait until I receive a short nod. Next I turn to my own charge. “And you will stay within my sight until further notice, or ye will be in more trouble than ye have ever imagined. And no need to bother asking, elfling, for I will tell ye when ye are free.”

My elf scowls, for it is a harsh sentence and one that is likely to drive me as crazy as it does him, but my heart cannot take another fright like the one yesterday and the only way I can think to guarantee he doesn’t seek trouble is to keep him in my line of vision. When I raise an eyebrow, he quickly straightens his face and then we begin to prepare for the day. 

When we reach the encampment of the others, we find everyone in good spirits over our victory of yesterday, but also anxiously awaiting news of what must be done today. 

Faramir begins to take charge of the situation by arranging teams to scour the city for any survivors and another to search out kindling, dried straw, loose parchment, or anything else that burns readily. These are scattered throughout the streets, inside and around buildings and then soaked in as much lamp oil as can be found. 

I consult with Master Sindri, and following his direction, my elfling and I join the dwarves in setting up lines and strategically placed mounds of black powder, the main bulk of it to be left in the middle of the black tower itself. If Captain Galathil or any of the other elves wonder why Legolas is following me in my tasks they do not ask. In fact at one point during the day, Galathil actually congratulates me on beheading the fell beast and splitting the skull of Haashim as he was on hand for both events.

“No one can deny your skill with dwarven weapons,” he admits, though I rather think it was hard for him to push the words past his teeth. He may be grateful to me for managing to rescue his prince, but I have the feeling he thinks elves could have handled it better without us mere mortals around to interfere. I say nothing of this however, and merely nod an acknowledgement to his words. I have other things to worry over right now, the main one being getting this bedamned city annihilated. 

After that Legolas and I build a makeshift platform near the edge of the city just inside the main gate, on which we place heaping mounds of dry straw. In the middle of this we place a keg of black powder and then soak the whole thing with coal oil and sprinkle it with more black powder that will lead to nearby lines of powder that lead to other small kegs further in. This is to be the ignition that will begin the burning of the foul city. 

There is little else to do other than go back to the encampment and begin making a head count and then doing it again to make absolutely for certain that no one is left inside. Faramir tells me there are still three men out, but as soon as they return we will be able to proceed as planned. It is a matter of minutes before the latecomers return, and the entire company is moved back away from the gates. Some will remain to watch that the fires do not get out of hand, but the others are free to return home if they like. Not a soul chooses to do so.

Reminding everyone else to stay far back, I take my elf by the elbow and lead him just within bowshot of the ignition, while Faramir follows with some arrows that have had their tips soaked in lamp oil. Faramir says a few words over the first one, dedicating it to service and asking the Valar to guide it to cleanse this land of any remaining evil that might still dwell here. He hands it off to Legolas, who carefully takes aim.

I take the flint from my pocket and hold it ready, but pause to remind my lad to take care.

“Ye’ll have to be quick, laddie. On the count of three.” He nods briefly and I wait until his eyes are forward again before I begin the count.  
“One…  
two….  
THREE!” 

I touch the fire to the arrow tip, almost as Legolas releases it. We watch it flame through the sky, straight and true and then it hits dead center of the target.

A flame goes up and a few second later a satisfying bang, and then everything is set in motion. The explosion causes a series of reactions that set off more powder kegs, causing even more fires until the whole city is engulfed in flame. We continue to watch, fascinated as stone collapses from explosions after explosion and buildings burn to black skeletons and then crumble into ash.

It is just at sunset when the fire reaches the dark tower where the main bulk of the black powder was left. One second I can see the silhouette of the dark tower, its spire reaching high into the evening sky and the next there is a colossal boom and then there is nothing but rubble and dust, with sparks leaping into the air where the tower used to be. 

There is a gasp of awe from the crowd behind us and as I turn toward my two companions, I see that they too are staring in wide-eyed amazement. I am sure the expression on my own face is similar as I look again at the flames eating away the evil place, for it truly is an inspiring sight. 

Suddenly it feels as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders and I am filled with a sense of deep satisfaction. We are triumphant! Those who have caused me and those that I love so much suffering and distress have paid the ultimate price for their wickedness. All the worry, all the planning, all the agony of mind and hours of lost sleep have been avenged! We have won the day and cleared the land of malevolence. It is a glorious feeling! Whatever else has happened and whatever else we must face in the future, tonight we celebrate! 

When I glance again at my friends, I see that they first look at one another and then turn towards me. Both beloved faces split into wide smiles. I am thrilled beyond belief that to have them both at my side and still mostly undamaged. There is no finer feeling than sharing a victory with friends. We have managed it together. I cannot find words to express my joy! But then it comes to me…

I clear my throat and place one hand on one shoulder of each of my companions. Giving them each a solid squeeze I say what is on my mind.

 

“Well done Lads.”

The End


End file.
